


Wait for me, Lover

by Lavenderaesthetic



Category: Hadestown - Mitchell, IT (2017), IT (2019), IT - Stephen King
Genre: Any way the wind blows, Bill is Hades, Eddie is Eurydice, Hadestown AU, I don’t know yet, Inspired by Hadestown, Mike is Hermes, Richie is Orpheus, Richie plays the lyre, Stanley is Persephone, is it happy ending or sad ending?
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-10-13
Updated: 2019-10-13
Packaged: 2020-12-14 20:36:24
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 9
Words: 20,658
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21021893
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lavenderaesthetic/pseuds/Lavenderaesthetic
Summary: Richie was a poor boy with a lyre. He was a muse’s son that was working on a song.Eddie was a young boy looking for something to eat, for shelter against the wind.The Hadestown AU





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This chapter is Mike’s POV but the rest will be third person

  
Once upon a time, there was a railroad line. 

On this line, there was a train, a mysterious train. A train that so little was known about. It is unknown where the line really started or ended, where the stations truly landed. No mortal soul knows who or what built it. At least, no mortal that lives to tell the tale. 

It was long ago, in a different world. An old world, a world of gods and mortals. Of the almighties and men. 

There is an old story, an old song. It’s an old tale from way back then. But, there are many who still remember it, like me, and it is still sung and sung again. It is a parados worth recounting, one worth listening to.    
But before I begin the tale, there is much you must know. There is much I must disclose before you are to understand the ancient song I sing. There are gods you must know, stories you must learn, mortals you must understand. There is a train you must recognize as the train to darkness and despair. 

There was a railroad track. And on it, a train that had a whistle that pierced the air, a whistle that could be heard from worlds away. This sound could be recognized by gods and men alike. It could be perceived as the sound of impending despair. 

There was a railroad line, and if you ride the train to the end of the line, you will end up in a place of death, a necropolis. You will end up on the other side of a wall that looms larger than any other, a wall that shields those inside, that surrounds and cages in. A wall that prevents those inside from ever leaving, of ever escaping. 

Where those inside never rest, where there are no breaks or stops. Where the wage is nothing, and the work is hard enough to kill any living mortal. Where no one ever stops swinging their hammers in the cold, hard ground. Where it is easy to forget who you are and everything that came before. Where your memories fade and get replaced by work and more work. Where you become no one, a mindless drone. Where you can look, but cannot see, because your eyes can only recognize the assembly line and your place in it. Where you can hear, but do not listen, because it is easier not to. Where you keep your head low if you want to keep it on your shoulders.

Where you can go, but cannot come back. 

This railroad line led to the Underworld. This train led to the deepest pit of the Earth, where the sun never shines and it is always shaded. There are no plants or trees or flowers. There is no life. 

Why would anyone want to go to a place like that? Well, circumstances can make mortals desperate. And the voices of the wind can persuade anyone, god or man. 

All around this railroad line, above and below, the voice of the wind swirled and beckoned. It spoke in luscious tongues in the back of your mind. It whispered dangerous promises, ones of fortune and happiness, ones of safety. It tempted mortals with devious lies and doubt with sweet songs, into riding that train. 

To get on this train was a simple task. The train on this railroad line required a very special ticket from a very special man. A ticket as black as coal, with silver and gold script that glittered. A ticket from the King of the Underworld.

And the King was always on the hunt for more passengers on his train. 

The King of the Underworld was a tall and lithe king. He had hair that was redder than any fire that might burn in the coals. He had eyes that of dazzling sapphires, deeper than any ocean. His stature was firm and powerful, as it had not always been. 

The King of the Underworld was a king of iron and steel, red hot and molten, being hammered into whatever he desired. He was the king of silver and gold, woven into the most intricate jewelries and accents. He was a king of everything that glittered under the sun, and under the ground. 

And this king was not alone. He had a beautiful queen that sat by his side. 

He was a queen of springtime. He was a lovely god of blooming flowers, ripe fruit, and flowing rivers, with golden brown curls and warm hazel eyes. A god who loved to walk in the sun, to bask in its rays, and feel the warmth on his immortal skin. 

The King of the Underworld loved his queen. More than his glittering objects. More than his kingdom. 

And the queen loved his husband, more than he could bare. 

But the Queen of the Underworld was the god of the seasons. Without him, in the world above, the Earth would die. The fruit would rot and flowers would not bloom. Lives were lost, and the queen could not be happy knowing what his absence had done to the mortals above. 

So the King and Queen made a deal. The Queen would spend half the year above, letting life spring forth in bounty. And the other half, he would return to his husband in their kingdom down below. 

The Queen valued his time outside the Underworld. He picked flowers and laid in the sun. He enjoyed living on top for his given time. And yes, he missed his husband. Sometimes, his heart would ache at the thought of returning back to the Underworld, but the Earth and it’s creatures should not have to suffer for their love. 

During the summer months, the King would become lonely in his dark domain. He turned his focus to metalworking, creating new technology. He built an entire industry in the Underworld. He filled it with machinery and electricity. He fashioned oil drums and automobiles from his iron and coal. 

But what he was most proud of, was his wall.

He built the wall around his kingdom to keep out things that would destroy what he had built inside. He built it to keep out poverty and the poor. He built it to shelter his people, to keep them inside, safe. 

But of course, it was all a distraction. A distraction from his loneliness. From the ache of absence his Queen would leave with him. 

During the end of those summer months, he feared that one day, his Queen would decide that the world above was better, and never return.

The King built a wall around his kingdom, yes, but he also built a wall around his heart. 

This wall, the physical and the metaphorical, built from insecurities, in turn, did exactly what the King feared. 

The Queen loved his King, but all those years of building, of power cords, power lines, changed his King to one of greed and power. Without the love of seeing his husband, it was easy for the Queen to begin detesting his time in the Underworld. He began to hate every second he spent in that dark kingdom. In retaliation, the King would cut the summers shorter, in order to spend more time with his Queen, which, in turn, made his Queen resentful. 

And that is why, long ago, in this tale, their hadn’t been a spring or fall in a very long time. 

It was because the music of machinery and doubt was louder than the song of their love. 

Every summer and every winter, the Queen would ride that train to and from the Underworld. Guarding its station was another god, one with feathers on his feet. He led those with their special tickets to their final destination, on that line to hell. 

I guess you could say I was the conductor of sorts. 

Now, I must tell you about our mortals.

Not far from this railroad station, there was a poor boy with a lyre. He was a muse’s son, and he was gifted with music by the gods. He was using his gift to work on a song. One that would bring back spring and fall. One that would destroy a wall. 

There was another young boy looking for something to eat, who was tired and looking for a place to rest. He was a boy who had run away from anywhere he had ever been. He was no stranger to the whispering wind or the cruelty of man. 

This tale is a tale of love, a love song. It’s a tale of love from long ago, of old love and young love, but true love all the same. 

But I must warn you, it’s a sad song. It’s a tragedy. But maybe, just maybe, if I sing it again, it might turn out this time. Maybe, they’ll get the ending that they deserve. But, even if it doesn’t, even if it ends like it always does, the tale should be told all the same. 


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> He stood for a moment, trying to make his lips move, his tongue move. For a long moment, nothing would come out, before he blurted, “Come home with me.”

_There were two souls on this road. One, working on a song. And one, looking for a place to sleep…_

As Eddie trudged on through the forest, looking for a place to rest, he pulled his coat tighter around himself. His feet dragged in the snow, leaving a jagged trench behind him. It was deathly cold out, as it always was this time of year, and everything around him was dead. No plants, no animals. No other travelers. Most people stayed in their homes during the winter season. But, Eddie wasn’t most people in that way. 

But other ways, he was just like everyone else. He needed shelter. 

Eddie hoped that the next place he found would be much more hospitable than the last inn. The keeper had been rude and dismissive, giving him constant glares and scoffing at him regularly. She had looked him up and down, and narrowed her eyes when he asked for a room. She had been much older than he was, with a sunken gray face that made her seem like her food supply had run out a while ago. Or like she hadn’t actually survived the last few winters, like a ghost still walking among the living. 

She was, however, not transparent. If she was, her scolding eyes would not have angered Eddie. Her  _ belittling _ stare would not have had any bearing on him. 

Eddie was  _ not _ a child. Not anymore. Not after everything he’s been through, and he hated when he was treated like one, especially from rude ugly hags who ran shitty old inns. 

He let out a shuddering breath and watched the puff of cold air dissipate in front of him. His eyes followed the stretch of the wooden skeletons that used to be trees into the gray sky. 

The sun never shone during winter. There were always clouds blocking it out, trapping its heat in the sky so that it never reached the ground. 

_ Better move along before I freeze to death. _

He shivered, and lumbered on. 

This winter was no easier than the ones before. There had been a few that he still might never recover from. That he still lays awake at night thinking about, as he tries to sleep through the shivering. 

Eddie had scraped by over the years, but it became more difficult as time went on, more tiresome. There was barely any food, and he was hungry. There was barely any shelter, and he was cold. 

He longed for summer, when the plants bloomed and fruit blossomed. He longed for the time of year where food was plenty, where everyone celebrated being alive, and, most of all, when men were kind. 

Eddie especially longed for the time where there had been seasons, for the time where the wind didn’t change at the drop of a hat. Now, it was either blazing hot or freezing cold, with no warnings at all, and no in between. There was no spring or fall anymore. There hadn’t been for a long time. Not as long as Eddie could remember. 

Eddie closed his eyes for a moment, feeling them sting from the cold, and tried to remember what it felt like to be in the sun. He tried to remember what warmth felt like, what a full belly felt like. What it felt like to walk through a field of flowers, to smell their fresh scent, to feel the grass in between his toes. Anything to make him feel alive again.

The wind whipped his face. The sharp sting brought tears to his eyes, but he wiped them away and kept walking. 

That was the worst part, the wind. Any way it blew, he could feel it. He could feel it's cold chill on him always. He could hear it's tempting whisper. Each year when winter came, when the wind rose again, he heard it. He heard it telling him where to go. He heard it follow him wherever he went. He felt it close behind. And every winter, it spoke the same thing. 

_ The weather is changing, you’d better go. The dark clouds are rolling in.  _

And so he did. When the wind changed, he moved on to another place, a new town. 

Most places weren’t as bad as the town he just left. The people were usually better, at least, during summer. When the wind turned, so did they. People he had called neighbors and friends. People he thought were good. Their sudden turn had felt like a cold whipping breeze that had slapped his face. 

_ People are like the wind _ . He thought.  _ Untrustworthy _ . 

Eddie had learned this lesson, time and time again, from many different men. This is why he was alone. This is why he listened to the wind. It was easier that way. He was better off like this. 

He shivered again at another strong pull of the wind. It wasn’t as brutal as the last, but he still felt the chill threatening to freeze him to stone. 

He wanted to hold on to the belief that summer would be here soon, that he wouldn’t be hungry for much longer, but he couldn’t hope for an end to this winter. He couldn’t gather the strength to hope for much of anything anymore. It takes too much to hope, especially when that hope is all for not. 

And he couldn’t complain that much about the innkeeper and her nasty attitude. He can’t be picky anymore. There were worse places, much worse. He knew this, because he had been to those places. He had lived in those places. 

Sometimes, if the wind is strong enough, you’ll do anything to find shelter or food. You’ll do anything so that the cold could not find you. You’ll do anything to lay in a bed, safe from the chilling air. 

But no matter how hard it was to survive in those places, no matter how cruel the men were, he never welcomed the next winter. He never welcomed the call of the wind. 

\---

Richie strummed his lyre, shivering inside his makeshift shelter. He had been playing for hours, and he couldn’t really feel his fingers anymore. They had turned a deep red, and they were on the verge of becoming purple. Every strum felt like a burning slice on his hands. But, he was determined to write, determined to  _ finish _ . 

Richie knew that he was blessed by the gods. He was blessed with the gift of song, and he had a way with words. He could make you see how the world should be, instead of the way it is. With music, he could paint a beautiful picture with the ugliest and dullest colors imaginable. He knew he had to use his gift, but he wasn’t sure how, until the day he woke up with a tune in his head. 

He knew that this tune was powerful. He could feel its energy and its potential, and he has been writing this song ever since. This was the song that would bring spring back again, after all these years. It would set the world right again. It would bring everything back in to tune.

But that was a lot of pressure on Richie. 

He strummed again and winced. His fingers had regained some feeling, and strumming his lyre felt more like a slice with the sharpest knife. He stretched his wrist and set his lyre on his back, frustrated with the lack of inspiration. This song, this ballad, wasn’t supposed to be so difficult for him. His mother had been a muse, and he was touched with musical abilities! 

He held his head in his hands, and ran his fingers through his hair. He pushed his glasses up his nose. 

_ Maybe they were wrong. Maybe I’m just a poor boy with a lyre.  _

Richie sighed and walked to the front of his shelter. Outside, everything was dead, all the trees, all the flowers. No one dared to walk outside much, this time of year. Not during these hard times. Not on this road. 

He saw an old woman walking towards the tavern a few yards down. Very few people went there this time of year, since they had little food. And whatever food they had was either stolen or kept hidden for their survival. 

But, what really caught his attention was the young man walking in from the barren forest. He had brown hair, and was wearing a large coat. 

And then the boy turned toward him, just for a moment, and Richie caught a glimpse of his face in the dim winter daylight. 

_ Beautiful _ . 

Richie could see that he was shivering, and he felt his heart throb. He felt compelled to wrap him up in a tight embrace. 

In the back of his mind, he felt the slightest ounce of deja vu, and ignored it. 

The sudden movement of the tavern door opening distracted him. Mike, a friend and mentor of his, walked out of the tavern. He stopped in front of the boy, and handed him what looked like a match, and continued down the road to Richie’s shelter. 

Richie walked outside and met him a few feet away from the tavern, where the boy had not yet entered. He was standing a few inches from the door, warming himself with the match.

Mike smiled warmly. 

“Hello, Richie.” 

But Richie didn’t entirely hear him. He kept his gaze on the boy. Even the wind couldn’t tear his eyes away. 

Even though it was daylight, the match lit up the boy’s face, a warm glow on his features, and Richie felt his heart throb again. 

Mike turned to follow Richie’s line of sight, and chuckled. 

“You wanna talk to him?” Mike asked. Richie’s eyes did not move. He didn’t speak, but Mike knew his answer.

_ Yes _ .

“Go on. But Richie, don’t come on too strong.” Mike turned to let Richie walk past him. Richie wanted to laugh, or even smile at Mike’s joke, but he couldn’t. He couldn’t feel his face, from the combination of the cold and feeling awestruck by the boy’s beauty. 

Richie was naive, to say the least. He didn’t know how the world really was, or the ways in which it turned. He had no idea what ‘too strong’ would be, or not strong enough. What was he supposed to say? 

Richie walked towards the boy, his heart beating faster and faster. He felt warm inside, warm enough for the both of them, for every winter that would ever come. 

He was a few inches away when the boy looked up and caught his gaze right as his match went out. Richie was close enough to see those warm brown eyes. He thought he might pass out.

He stood for a moment, trying to make his lips move, his tongue move. For a long moment, nothing would come out, before he blurted, “Come home with me.”

The boy looked frightened for a moment, and Richie was immediately filled with regret and shame. But the boy’s face relaxed and he raised an eyebrow.

“Who are you?” he asked. Richie smiled and found his confidence, his eyes twinkling with mirth. He may have been naive to the ways of the world, but he did have an unbelievable sense of humor, a bit of a jokester. He took Eddie’s hand and kissed it. 

“The man who’s gonna marry you. I’m Richie.” 

The boy scoffed, and looked behind him where Mike was standing. Richie kept his loving gaze on Eddie. 

“He your friend?” Richie heard Mike chuckle.

“Yes, he is.” 

“Is he always like this?” the boy asked. 

“Yes.” Mike answered. The boy smirked and looked at Richie. 

“Ok then, Richie. I’m Eddie.” 

“Eddie…” Richie loved the way it danced on his tongue. “Your name is like a melody.” Richie said and he kissed Eddie’s hand again. Eddie slowly pulled his hand back, still smirking. 

“A singer? Is that what you are, Richie?” Richie nodded. 

“I also play the lyre.” 

Eddie laughed.

“Oh, a liar  _ and _ a player, too?” Richie exhaled a small laugh. He never expected Eddie to be funny, too. But, before he could reply, Eddie turned to walk into the tavern. “I’ve met too many men like you, Richie.” Richie’s confidence faltered. His face turned sincere. 

“Oh no, I’m not like that. I swear. I would never.” Before Richie could move, Mike spoke up.

“He’s not like any man you’ve met. Tell him what you’re working on, Richie.” 

Eddie turned back to Richie, intrigued. Richie felt his cheeks heat up.

“I’m… I’m working on a song. It isn’t finished yet. But, when it’s done… when I sing it, spring will come again.” 

“I’m sorry, come again?” Eddie scoffed. 

“Spring will come.” Richie said confidently. 

“Your song... will make spring come?” Eddie shook his head. Richie nodded. “I haven’t seen a spring or fall since… I can’t remember.” Richie took a step closer to Eddie.

“That’s why I’m working on the song. The song that will fix what’s wrong with the world. A song so beautiful it brings the world back to where it needs to be, and all the flowers will bloom,” Richie beamed triumphantly, showing that levity once more. “when you become my husband.”

Eddie laughed and shook his head, pulling his coat around himself. 

“Oh, so you’re  _ crazy _ . Why would I become your husband? We’ve just met, and I’m not even sure I  _ like _ you. And it’s freezing out here, so if you don’t mind...” Eddie walked towards the door of the tavern again, still shaking his head. Richie felt his heart sink. He needed to do something, anything. He couldn’t bear to live without Eddie. Not now, not ever. 

“I’ll make you feel alive again.” He said. 

Eddie froze, hand on the door. Richie prayed to all the gods that he would turn around.  _ Anything _ . 

“Alive? That’s worth a lot.” Eddie said in a quiet voice. “No other men have promised me that.” Eddie turned to Richie, and Richie’s heart broke at the expression in his eyes, downcast and seemingly in deep thought, or reminiscent. But then, he looked up at Richie, a smile in his eyes.

“What else you got?”

Richie beamed and grabbed both of Eddie’s hands, pulling him closer. Eddie chuckled. Richie sank down to one knee. Before Richie could speak, Eddie’s eyes widened. 

“You were  _ serious _ ?  _ Are _ you insane?” Eddie tried to pull his hands away, but Richie held them firmly.

“Eddie, please marry me.” Richie kissed both of Eddie’s hands, pleading, with a large smile. Eddie smiled in disbelief. 

“I- you- how- how could we  _ even- _ ” Eddie shook his head. Richie saw Eddie’s eyes searching his face for any sign that he was joking, and then Eddie smirked and raised an eyebrow.

“Ok,  _ my lover _ . If we are going to get married, then who will buy the wedding rings? Times are hard and getting harder, and you don’t look like a rich man. You play the  _ lyre _ .” 

“Lover, when I sing the song, the rivers will sing along. Their gold will flow generous, and we will pan it, and fashion it for your hand.” Richie kissed Eddie’s right ring finger, and Eddie scoffed.

“The rivers, huh?” Eddie murmured and Richie nodded. “Alright, then,  _ lover _ , who will lay the wedding table? It gets so dark so early nowadays, and there’s barely any food.” 

Richie laced their fingers together, connecting their palms. 

“When I sing the song, lover, the trees will sing along. Their fruit will grow plenty for us, and we will lay it on our wedding table.” Richie walked his fingers around Eddie’s wrist, and Eddie laughed.

“So let me get this straight. When you sing the song, spring will come again, and the river will give us gold, and trees will give us fruit?” Richie nodded. Eddie cocked his head. “Why don’t you sing it then? Why don’t you sing this magical song that will fix everything?” Richie’s smile faltered, and he stood, still cradling Eddie’s wrists. 

“It’s not done yet. I have to finish it.” Eddie shook his head and pulled his hands back. 

“Oh no. You don’t get to tell me you know a song with powers like that, and not sing it. Do you want to take me home? Do you want to marry me?” Richie nodded.  _ More than anything _ . “Sing it,  _ lover _ .” 

Richie gazed into Eddie’s warm eyes for a long moment. A small gust of wind blew, and Eddie’s locks danced in the air. Richie felt his heart aching, he felt warm again. He wanted more than anything to tuck those locks behind Eddie’s ear, to caress the side of his face. 

So he let go of Eddie, and took a small step back. He pulled his lyre over his shoulder and took a deep breath. 


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Richie stopped singing.
> 
> But the song wasn’t over.
> 
> The echo of the melody resounded around them for a long moment, warm, but getting colder and farther away. Eddie felt everything grow colder. He felt the world somehow revert back to the bitter and bleak one he knew moments before.
> 
> But, something felt different to him. Something felt… better.

Eddie watched skeptically as Richie began playing his lyre. He looked focused, determined, and Eddie internally laughed at the ridiculousness of the situation. He thought sure, I’ll marry this guy if he can play his magical song, why not? 

Eddie glances around them, waiting for flowers to start growing or the sun to peak out. He waited for gold to start popping out of the ground, or even a goddess to show her face. 

And, as he expected, he saw nothing. 

He looked back at Richie again, ready to laugh at him and leave. 

But then.

Then Richie began to sing. 

_ La la la la la la la… _

And as Richie‘s voice graced his ears, Eddie started to… feel something. Something that started out small, that started so insignificant, like an itch, but once you noticed it, you couldn’t think about anything else. You couldn’t pull your attention away from it. 

But, it wasn’t an itch that he felt. It was more like a spark. A spark so tiny that it barely fizzled, in the base of his spine. It was microscopic, but intense all the same. 

It crept up his spine, slowly, warmly. It reached his back, tickling his neck and shoulders, up the base of his head. 

_ La la la la la la la… _

He felt that spark release warmth inside him. Everywhere it went, it left a pleasant heat in its wake, traveling throughout his body, fizzling everywhere. For a moment, he felt too hot for his coat.

_ Too hot for my coat, in the dead of winter.  _

He almost removed it from his shoulders.

But he couldn’t move. 

_ La la la la la la la… _

He was frozen where he stood. He thought, just for a second, how could he be frozen and so warm at the same time? 

All Eddie could do was stare at Richie and listen to his beautiful and enchanting melody. 

His chest felt tight and he realized that he forgot to breathe. But the tension was suddenly released with another strum of Richie’s fingers, and Eddie felt the song in him. He felt it  _ breathe _ for him, moving. Through his chest and lungs, giving him  _ life _ . 

_ La la la la la la la… _

And then Eddie heard it. 

Eddie heard the echo. He heard the repeating of the tune all around him, in the trees, from the ground, from everywhere and every direction, inside and out. 

He felt the song envelop everything. He felt it molding and changing their surroundings. He felt it…

He felt it being the world back in tune. 

_ La la la la la la la… _

And Richie stopped singing.

But the song wasn’t over. 

The echo of the melody resounded around them for a long moment, warm, but getting colder and farther away. Eddie felt everything grow colder. He felt the world somehow revert back to the bitter and bleak one he knew moments before. 

But, something felt different to him. Something felt…  _ better _ . 

And then Richie opened his eyes to peer up at him, and he felt warm again. His face, he could feel, was flushed, and his chest felt just as tight as it was a moment ago. 

They stared at each other for a long moment, soft blue eyes boring into warm brown, and Eddie suddenly felt a strange feeling in the back of his mind that he couldn’t quite place. 

He didn’t finish the thought, because a patch of color catches his eye and he looks down at his feet, and his mouth falls open. 

“How’d you do that?” Eddie whispered. Richie doesn’t respond, and Eddie peers up at Richie to see him also staring at the ground. 

Right where they were standing, there was a perfect circle of fresh green grass. 

Eddie couldn’t believe his eyes. He thought it was a trick of the mind, an illusion. But he could see each blade, some wet with dew, moving in the breeze. He could smell it, like the fresh morning scent of summer. 

But it wasn’t summer. It was winter. Everything was dead. Nothing was supposed to grow. 

But somehow, Richie had made grass grow, in a  _ dirt _ road, in the middle of  _ winter _ .

_ With a fucking song.  _

“How can a  _ song _ do  _ this _ ?” Eddie reaches his hand out, and starts to bend down to touch the soft green plant. But the wind blows and bites his face, and he shivers and pulls his coat up his shoulders, thinking how absurd it was that he had just thought about removing it a few moments ago. 

“I told you.” He heard Richie murmur. Eddie’s gaze snapped up to his. Richie was smiling triumphantly, still with that touch of humor. 

And  _ Eddie _ . 

Eddie did something he hadn’t done in years. He felt himself relax. 

He let his guard down. 

The tension in his shoulders that was always there, that had been there for a very long time, because men were only kind for so long, melted. 

He felt a genuine smile crawl on his face, and he took a small step towards Richie. They were close enough to feel each other's cold breath. He could see freckles that he hadn’t noticed before. 

“You have to finish it.” Richie’s eyes shone as Eddie raised his hand to cup Richie’s face. He traced his fingers softly up his cheek, and then cradled his hand on Richie’s jaw. 

That strange feeling washed over Eddie again. And this time, he took a moment to try and gauge it. It felt like… familiarity. It felt like  _ home _ . 

“Lover,” Eddie said, without really thinking. But he didn’t try and correct himself, because it felt  _ right _ . And Richie could tell that it was sincere this time, “if we get married,  _ when _ we get married, who will make our wedding bed?”

Richie laced Eddie’s free hand with his own, pulling Eddie close against him. 

“When I sing the song,” Richie murmured, “the birds will sing along, and they’ll give us their feathers, and you’ll sleep on the softest of pillows.” Eddie smiled, breathing out a light laugh. 

“Just to recap, the river will give us our wedding rings, the trees will make our wedding table, and the birds will make our wedding bed.” Eddie said, only half joking. 

Richie leaned closer to him still, his face close enough to touch Eddie’s, settling his free hand on Eddie’s waist. Richie’s eyes were locked on his, and for a long moment, Eddie thought they were going to stay like that. He felt Richie’s fingers slightly clenching on his waist, and he realized Richie was waiting for something, asking for something. 

Permission. 

And that in itself was enough to overwhelm Eddie. The men he had known didn’t ask permission, or wait. They didn’t hesitate. 

They just took. 

But Richie wasn’t like any man he’d ever met. 

So, Eddie nodded. 

Richie leaned down to nudge his nose against Eddie’s. Eddie’s breath ghosted Richie’s lips, just for a moment. Eddie heard Richie breathe it in, like normal air wouldn’t sustain him, like only Eddie could keep him alive. Richie shivered, and leaned down to brush their lips together. Eddie pull back slightly, just to tease him for an instant, and Richie opened his eyes. Eddie studied the soft blue of them for a moment, watching them darken the longer they were locked on Eddie, and then he closed his eyes. Richie closed his own and gave Eddie’s lips a gentle kiss, chaste and timid and  _ soft _ . 

Eddie felt that spark again, a pleasant  _ burn _ . He still felt so overwhelmed because no one had ever been so soft with him, so kind. He cupped Richie’s jaw with both of his hands, softly nudging him back. His thumb brushed Richie’s lips, and he pulled Richie in for another kiss. 

Eddie parted his lips, and Richie kissed him with earnest. He felt Richie’s hands slide to his hip and his face, and they left a blazing trail of heat in their wake. That heat echoed in waves throughout his body, warming him,  _ comforting _ him. There was a strange feeling in the back of his mind again. That feeling of recognizing, of  _ safety _ . 

They kissed for as long as they could without breathing, and finally, when he was dying for air, Eddie pulled back. Richie’s eyes were still closed when Eddie opened his own to look at Richie’s face. His black lashes softly dusted his cheeks, which were turning red from either the cold, or their kisses. 

Richie opened them after a moment. 

“You need to finish that song, Richie.” Eddie murmured. Richie opened his mouth to speak, but Eddie moved his gaze to look behind Richie, and Richie turned. 

Mike had been walking towards them, and when he saw the grass, he didn’t look surprised, and Eddie assumed that he knew the song already. Eddie hadn’t even seen him leave. 

Mike stopped in front of Richie and gestured towards the ground. Richie was about to speak, but Mike cut him off. 

“Where’d you get that melody?” Mike asked, as if he already knew the answer. 

“I don’t- It came to me, I guess, like I’d known it all along…” 

“Oh, you have,” Mike smiled, but Eddie saw something much more somber behind it. “it’s an old song. A love song from long ago. I haven’t heard it in a long time.” 

That was a strange thing to say, and Eddie wondered exactly how long ago Mike had heard it. Eddie also noticed that Mike was not dressed for the cold, like he didn’t seem bothered by it. He also noticed that he had feathers on his shoes.

“You’ve heard it before? Where?” Richie pleaded. 

“Remember when I told you tales of the gods? Of the King of the Underworld and his Queen? Of how their love made the world go ‘round?” Richie nodded. “Now  _ you _ tell it.” Mike gestured towards the grass, and then towards the lyre on Richie’s back. Richie looked at Eddie, his eyes shining, and Eddie nodded.

He slid his hand down Richie’s arm. 

“Go on, Richie.” 

He squeezed Richie’s hand, and took a step back. Richie gave him a longing glance before pulling the lyre over his shoulder and playing once more. 

_ King of Shadows _

_ King of Shades _

_ William was king of the Underworld _

_ But he fell in love with a beautiful god _

Eddie felt that spark in his spine once more, and again, up his back and to his shoulders, that warmth, spreading and fizzling inside him. 

_ Who walking up above in his mother’s green field _

_ He fell in love with Stanley _

_ Who was gathering flowers in the light of the sun _

_ And he took him home to become his queen _

_ Where the sun never shone _

_ On anyone _

He felt the sun for a moment. He felt the warmth of it dance on his skin. He felt as if he were that god in the field, picking flowers. If he concentrated, he could feel soft petals in his hands. He could smell the green grass and he could feel it tickling his bare feet. And then he felt the sun suddenly disappear, he felt the heat of it vanish.

But  _ inside _ . Inside, he could still feel it. 

_ The god loved him and the kingdom they shared _

_ But without him above, not one flower would grow _

_ So King William agreed that for half of each year _

_ He would stay with him there in his world down below _

_ But the other half, he could walk in the sun _

_ And the sun, in turn, burned twice as bright _

Eddie shivered, feeling the world around him suddenly die, feeling the lack of life. And then he felt an intense heat. He knew this feeling, the feeling of the blazing summer. The feeling of being alive, of being surrounded by life. 

_ Which is where the seasons come from _

_ And with them, the cycle  _

_ Of the seed and the sickle _

_ And the lives of the people _

_ And the birds and their flight _

Richie paused, and Mike nodded. 

_ La la la la la la la… _

_ La la la la la la la… _

And the trees echoed the melody, and the birds sang along. Eddie closed his eyes, absorbed in the euphoric feeling of seeing the world how it should be. 

_ La la la la la la la… _

_ La la la la la la la… _

After the echo slowly ebbed away, Mike nodded sadly. 

“But that was long ago, before we were on this road.” He sighed, almost to himself. 

Eddie laced his hand in Richie’s, smiling proudly at him. 

Which is strange, Eddie thought. Because he just met Richie. But nothing about it felt strange at all. Nothing about it felt fast, or rushed. 

It just felt  _ right _ . 

And that’s the only way he could really comprehend it. 

Eddie saw Mike looking at them wistfully, like he knew something that Eddie didn’t. Mike abruptly turned his head towards the forest, and his smile warmed up. 

“The train’s coming.” He said. “Summer is here.” Summer is here summer is here summer is here summer is here


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> But Mike stepped aside and a young man walked in behind him. He had curly light brown hair, and he was also carrying a brown suitcase.   
“Pour the wine. It’s summertime!” he said, and everyone cheered.

Eddie and Richie sat inside the busy tavern, next to each other on a bench. Almost every other table was filled with people who were, like him, sick of this winter. Eddie guessed that they felt the change in the wind too, and they had hoped it meant that this biting cold was over. They were only here because Mike had told them that summer was coming a few days ago, and they had been coming in and waiting for him to return.

A waitress struggled to get everyone their drinks, since their supply was extremely low. She sped from table to table explaining that it was still winter, and they had no wine, only prune juice that they had stored. Nothing was ripe yet. 

This confused many of the tavern goers. Eddie could see their expressions falling. But some of them just became angry. One woman stood up and shouted at the waitress, telling her to stop being selfish because it was  _ summertime _ and everything would be ripe soon. The waitress attempted to calm her down. She got the woman to sit, but she was still yelling. 

Eddie had never seen the god of spring. He didn’t even know what he looked like. He had never really thought about the gods before, especially after the weather went to hell. Thinking about the gods would mean that he had hope, and he had lost most of that long ago. But now, he entertained the thought of it, in spite of himself. 

Eddie turned to Richie.

“What did he mean, summer was coming?” Richie raised his eyebrow.

“Didn’t you listen to the song, lover?” Richie smiled when Eddie rolled his eyes at the pet name. He had been calling Eddie that for the past few days, even though Eddie repeatedly told him not to. But Richie could see he secretly liked it. 

“There’s a lot of waiting going on around here. We wait for a god with a suitcase to return every year, to bring back summer, make the vines grow, bring the wine.  _ Does he ever so like his wine _ .” Richie chuckles. “He comes from a train that goes to the Underworld, and Mike works at that railroad station.” 

“The god of spring comes  _ here _ ?” He gestured to the room filled with fidgeting people. Richie nodded. 

“He always comes here. The railroad line is close by, I guess.” 

Eddie looked around the tavern again. More people seemed to be getting angry, mostly out of confusion. 

“Mike… He’s not mortal, is he?” Richie shook his head.

“No. He’s always been the same, ever since I was a baby. My mother was a muse, and after she left, he took me under his wing, or wings.” Richie pointed to his foot, chuckling at his own pun. “He told me about the gods, and he told me that they had given me a great talent and a great gift to give the world. He helped me. He’s like my mentor.” 

“Your mother was a muse, and your best friend is a god? What have I signed up for?” Richie laughed. Eddie leaned closer to his side, lacing their hands together. He studied the side of Richie’s face, while Richie gazed at their intertwined fingers. 

“A love song, I hope.” Richie murmured, smiling wistfully. Eddie rested his other hand on Richie’s shoulder. 

“I hope so, too.” 

Richie looked down at Eddie, his smile turning into something more serious, something somber. That face made Eddie feel a twist in his gut. A twist of what, he didn’t know. But he didn’t like it. 

He brought his hand up to cup Richie’s face, tracing his thumb over Richie’s cheek. He curled his fingers around Richie’s jaw, so he could pull him closer. 

Eddie kept their eyes locked. He didn’t want Richie to look away. 

He pulled Richie closer, and Richie leaned in as well. Richie hadn’t tried to kiss him again since the first time, a few days ago. Eddie wasn’t sure why, because he knew Richie wanted to kiss him. He might have been going slow, just for Eddie. 

But Eddie didn’t want to go slow. 

He wanted to keep kissing Richie. He wanted to _so_ _bad_. 

Their noses touched, and Eddie thought _yes_ _finally_. 

But they were interrupted by a loud noise. 

The tavern door opened and Mike walked in. The tavern fell silent. Everyone’s eyes were on him, waiting for him to speak. Mike looked around and sighed. 

“Never early, always late.” Mike tutted and rolled his eyes. Eddie felt a sense of dread. If the god of spring was late, then summer would be, too. 

But Mike stepped aside and a young man walked in behind him. He had curly light brown hair, that framed his face flawlessly, with a yellow flower tucked on his ear. And Eddie thought, anyone with hair that perfect  _ must _ be a god. 

The man was wearing a green button down shirt and tan pants. Which makes sense to Eddie, because in spring, everything turned green again. 

He was also carrying a brown suitcase.

He looked around the tavern, and saw everyone’s eyes light up, but no one made a sound. They waited for him. The young man scanned the room, his hazel eyes glinting, and grinned sardonically. 

“Pour the wine. It’s  _ summertime _ !” he said, and everyone cheered. 

\---

Stanley had really missed this place. He missed the world on top, but he liked  _ this _ tavern specifically. He liked the people in this town. And he liked that it was so close to his transportation. 

While walking here from the railroad station, the god of spring brought some of the world back to life. Breathing in the fresh air, he made the sun shine bright. He made the fruit ripe, the crops plentiful. He made the world livable again. His favorite time of year had always been spring, when everything slowly grows again. When animals come out from hibernation. When people’s hope comes back to life. But there hadn’t been a spring in so long. Now, he was always late, and he had to speed up that process. So, on this road, he did as much as he could. He raised every single blade of grass, every single seed grow, every flower bloom. 

He brought a particular patch of red flowers back to life. He thought they looked enchanting, the petals soft and large, positively glowing in the sun, yellow centers radiating beauty. 

He leaned in, to pick one and wear it in his hair. 

But he stopped short, when he saw what kind of flower it was, what kind of fruit grew from those blossoms.

What that fruit symbolized. What it  _ used _ to symbolize, for  _ him _ . 

He doesn’t pick it. Just caresses the petals softly, feeling the soft, velvety texture. And for a moment, he  _ does _ think of wearing it. He thinks of tucking it in his hair like he always used to. 

But he doesn’t. That was long ago. 

Instead, a batch of daffodils grow, and he picks one of those instead, tucking it behind his ear. 

He goes on bringing life to the world again. Not just flowers, but crops and fruits. 

He  _ especially _ liked ripening grapes. If the grapes were ripe, that meant there would be wine. And there was nothing Stanley loved more than a drink, nowadays. 

The tavern was full of people, all rejoicing at his arrival as they always did. A certain waitress looked especially relieved when he had walked in. He assumed she had been low on food and such after a long winter, and Stanley made sure their orchards and fields were full the moment he arrived. She scuttled about the tavern, giving people their drinks. 

Stanley took a large sip of his own drink. He was sitting on a table, a dozen people surrounding him. They all gazed at him, leaning on to his every word. 

“Where ya been?” a woman asked. Stanley smiled. 

“I’ve been to hell and back again. I’m married to the King of the Underworld, after all.” He chuckled, twirling one of his curls with his finger. 

“But why were you late?” a man shouted. The corner of Stanley’s smile faltered, and he internally groaned. He slapped his hand on the man’s shoulder, smiling tightly. 

“Let me tell you what my momma says. She says ‘when you’re down, you’re down, but when you’re up, you’re up’. And right now we’re all up, so let’s not talk about hard times. Winter is over.” he raised his glass, and they all shouted in agreement. 

“It’s all thanks you to we get to celebrate!”

“Yea! You’re our hero!” 

Stanley placed a hand on his chest, as if he was flattered, when he was, in fact, just tipsy. He wasn’t going to lie, he enjoyed the attention. He enjoyed the fact that all these people knew his name, that they worshipped him. 

Stanley saw Mike roll his eyes out of the corner of his eye. He smiled, and took a large swallow from his mug, loving the warm buzz that traveled flowed through him. He slammed the mug down on the table and stood up, eyeing Mike. 

“Who makes summer sun shine bright? That’s right, me! Who makes the fruit of the vine get ripe?” He asked. 

“Stanley!” They all shouted in response. Mike raised an eyebrow, and Stanley smiled at him. He kicked over someone’s empty mug. 

“That’s me. And who makes flowers bloom?” He asked. He bent down and picked up his mug.

“You!” 

“Who’s doin’ the best he can? Me, that’s who.” He murmured that last part, and drank down another sip. He threw his empty mug down. He jumped down from the table and bowed. The group surrounding him raised their glasses and clapped. 

In that group, he saw Richie, the poet, the son of the muse. Sitting next to him was another boy. He was smiling and talking with Richie. Stanley walked over to the boys. They stopped talking and Richie beamed.

“Stanley. Lively as always, I see.” The boy next to him whipped his head around to look at Richie, shocked. But Stanley smirked. 

“How about  _ you _ bless this next round,  _ poet _ .” Stanley handed him a mug. He gestured next to him. “Who’s this?”

“Eddie.”

“You don’t seem very thrilled about summer, Eddie.” A group of people behind them grew louder for a moment before dying down. One man spilled his entire glass of wine on the woman next to him, and everyone roared with laughter, even the woman. 

“Summer is nice, but I used to love spring over everything.” Eddie spoke quietly. Stanley patted Eddie’s shoulder. 

“Now, I know the weather ain’t the way it used to be, but like my momma always says, ‘you take what you can get, and you make the most of it’. We’re livin’ it up on top. Have some dandelion wine.” Stanley smiled and looked at Richie, pointing at him. He walked back to his table, still facing Richie.

“Let the poet bless this round!” He announced. The people in the tavern roared with encouragement. Richie looked at Eddie, who shrugged. Richie smiled and stood on the table, raising his glass. 

“To the patron of life, Stanley! Who finally returned to us with wine enough to share. He asks nothing in return, except that we should live! And learn to live as brothers! And to trust he will provide. If no one takes too much, there will always be enough for everyone! He will always fill our cups, and we will always raise them up!” He raised his above his head, and everyone else did the same. “To the world we dream about, and the one we live in now!” He drank, and everyone in the tavern roared with applause, and Stanley, over his own drink, saw Eddie looking up at Richie in fascination. 

\---

Even as the sun started to set, the celebration roared on. More wine flowed throughout the tavern, and Eddie thought he had never seen so many joyous people before in his life. Tables were moved outside to avoid any more damage inside. Glittering lanterns were scattered all over the scene, and there was a band playing music. Women pulled men up to dance, spilling more wine and breaking more cups. Laughter filled Eddie’s ears, mixed with occasional applause. 

Eddie was happy to be outside for the first time in a while. The warm night air danced on his skin. His coat was discarded hours ago. He held a mug of wine, listening to Richie talk about anything,  _ everything _ . Richie’s eyes would occasionally light up. He would make big gestures with his hands, and, after a while, he wasn’t so timid anymore. He was quite loud, in fact, and quite funny. 

Eddie felt a dangerous thought creep in the back of his mind, but he buried it, and told himself that he would entertain the idea for a while. The idea of staying with Richie. He couldn’t, though. He always moved when the weather changed. Always followed the whispers of the wind...

As Richie kept on, however, Eddie seemed to be suppressing the thought of staying less and less, which was even more dangerous for him. Not only was the thought there, it was bubbling, reaching the surface. It was close to being not just an idea, but a decision. 

“And what about you? Where are you from?” Richie asked. Eddie fingers danced up and down his mug, avoiding eye contact. 

“I’m from everywhere, I suppose. Well, I’ve  _ been _ everywhere. I move frequently, especially when the wind changes. It’s… it’s easier that way.” Eddie said solemnly. Richie’s smile faltered for a moment, but Eddie saw hope in his eyes. He saw it grace Richie’s face, and Eddie hoped,  _ prayed _ , that Richie wouldn’t ask him. That he would ask the dreaded question ‘ _ will you stay with  _ me _ ? _ ’. Eddie couldn’t answer that. He couldn’t. Not yet. 

But Richie did not ask him. Instead, Richie drank more of his wine. He then stood up and extended his hand towards Eddie, asking a different question. One not so alarming to Eddie, safer. 

Eddie set his hand on Richie’s, and Richie grinned. He took his soon-to-be lover’s hand, and pulled Eddie to the crowd of dancing people. Eddie felt that he wasn’t nearly drunk enough for this, watching the others laugh and trip over each other. He had never really danced before. 

Richie could sense his unease, and smiled warmly. Eddie reciprocated, and Richie spun him around. Eddie huffed, still smiling, and Richie did it again, trying to warm Eddie up. Soon, they were spinning and swinging around, and Eddie was laughing joyously. He let Richie lead him, pulling and twisting and twirling. He met Richie’s eyes, and he felt his cheeks heat up. They were both grinning, but their expressions turned more serious the longer they looked into each others’ eyes. Eddie saw a blush rise in Richie’s cheeks as well, and he felt his own creep down his neck. Richie pulled him close, not breaking eye contact. He moved his hands down to Eddie’s waist, and Eddie slid his own up Richie’s arms to wind around his neck. They stared at each other, trying to catch their breath. Even if Eddie wanted to, he didn’t think he  _ could _ look away from Richie’s heated gaze.

And they danced for hours like that, underneath the stars...

  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  



	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Eddie felt Richie pull back, and he opened his eyes to search Richie’s face. Richie was smiling down at him, but in his eyes, Eddie saw something. And before Eddie could figure out what it was, Richie asked him the question he had been dreading to answer. His breath ghosted over Eddie’s lips, and he had to repress a shiver.
> 
> “Will you stay with me?”
> 
> Eddie didn’t answer right away. He stared into Richie’s eyes, his mind running in overdrive. He still hadn’t really decided yet. He still needed time.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Y’all know what goes down during All I’ve Ever Known. Don’t pretend you don’t know what this chapter is about.

Lying in the grass next to Richie, Eddie was worried.

Not because they were sitting in the sun, letting the shine of it dance on their skin. Not because it was almost blazing hot, sweat threatening to drip downEddie’s hairline. Not because they were surrounded by fresh blooming flowers that made the air smell sweet. Not because the breeze was soft, flowing through Richie’s curls so that they framed his face gracefully. Not because Eddie’s hand was softly grazing the side of Richie’s face, catching one of those delicate curls every few strokes. 

But because of what was happening in his mind. Because of the turmoil buzzing around in his head. 

Eddie had been having more dangerous thoughts over these past few weeks with Richie. Dangerous, in that they are the kind that made him uneasy. The kind that threatened to lower his guard. The kind that made him ignore reason and logic. To abandon every lesson he’s learned before because he thinks _this_ _time_ will be different. 

The more he was with Richie, the more intrusive these thoughts became, more solid and definite. Logical. And the more he entertained them, the more he let his mind wander to accept the idea, the more he welcomed them. He entertained the idea of staying, of letting the weather do what it pleased, of no longer being alone, of being Richie’s. 

Eddie had had thoughts like these before, and he had learned his lesson. The world he knew was cruel and unyielding. He had learned that being alone was easier,  _ safer _ . He had learned that relying on himself and only himself was his only option. He had learned that  _ yes _ , summer was nice,  _ warm _ and  _ lovely _ , and so was Richie. So was being with him, like this, in a field of flowers with the sun shining in summer. 

But winter always came. Flowers always rot, and fall apart. The sun always stops shining, taking away its warming rays. And people were like the wind, and the wind always changed. 

Eddie  _ knew _ this. He  _ knew _ it, and yet, he spent his days with Richie. He spent them by Richie’s side, laughing, smiling, holding his hand. 

Richie took Eddie’s hand, lacing their fingers together. Richie’s hands were bigger than his, and they almost covered Eddie’s entirely. But Eddie felt like they fit perfectly together. He loved how rough they were from years of playing his lyre, how the course pads of Richie’s fingers felt against his palm, or the back of his hand. 

Eddie couldn’t stop looking at Richie’s soft smile, his warm blue eyes. He was looking at Eddie like there was no place he’d rather be, his lips curvedin a genuine expression of love. The sun made his black hair shine, curls visible. Eddie had never noticed the soft brown highlights that came out in the light. 

A voice in the back of his mind told him to leave _right_ _now_, to go before things got messy again. 

But he couldn’t help it. He had fallen in love with Richie.

He had fallen in love, in spite of himself. 

Richie’s fingers brushed across Eddie’s knuckles. Eddie sighed, feeling the rough skin against his hand. 

Eddie felt like he could stay like this, lying here, warm on the inside and the outside, forever. He wanted to keep Richie touching him. He wanted to keep Richie’s eyes on him. He wanted to keep the pleasant feeling in his stomach burning for eternity. 

Eddie licked his lips. He leaned towards Richie, wanting to feel the caress of Richie’s lips against his again. Richie met him halfway, closing his eyes and connecting their lips. Eddie felt Richie’s tongue graze his bottom lip softly. He parted his lips, sighing when Richie kissed him earnestly. He felt that warmth again, felt it spread from his lips to his cheeks to his ears. He felt it travel down his spine and linger there, buzzing. Eddie unlinked their hands and cupped the back of Richie’s neck, pulling Richie towards him. Richie rolled on top of him, and Eddie’s heart skipped a beat. He loved the feeling of Richie’s body on his, of Richie shielding him from the world. 

Eddie twirled the black curls at the nape of Richie’s neck with his middle finger, not pulling, just feeling. He felt Richie press more into the kiss, felt Richie’s tongue move firmly against his own, felt Richie’s body press into him. That warm feeling no longer buzzed inside him. Now, it felt like bursts up and down his back. It felt like a kindling fire and Eddie threaded his hands through Richie’s hair, pulling him closer. He felt Richie sigh into his mouth. 

They kissed for… hours? Minutes? Eddie wasn’t sure. All he knew was that he didn’t want to stop. He wanted to hold Richie and never let go. 

Eddie felt Richie pull back, and he opened his eyes to search Richie’s face. Richie was smiling down at him, but in his eyes, Eddie saw something. And before Eddie could figure out what it was, Richie asked him the question he had been dreading to answer. His breath ghosted over Eddie’s lips, and he had to repress a shiver. 

“Will you stay with me?” 

Eddie didn’t answer right away. He stared into Richie’s eyes, his mind running in overdrive. He still hadn’t really decided yet. He still needed  _ time _ . 

“I-” He tried to answer. He tried to say  _ yes _ or  _ no _ . But, to Eddie it wasn’t that simple, no matter how much he wanted it to be. He bit his lip, and brushed a curl from Richie’s face. 

“I’ve been alone for so long.” Eddie breathed. “I’ve forgotten… I didn’t even really know that I was lonely.” Richie was about to speak, but Eddie moved his thumb to cover Richie’s lip, asking him to stay silent. Richie’s eyes were almost comically wide, but Eddie didn’t feel like laughing. 

“I’ve always… turned from the wind… turned from  _ everyone _ . I’ve never relied on anyone, for anything. For a long time, I haven’t relied on anyone. All I know is how to hold my own.” Richie’s eye fell away from his, but Eddie cupped Richie’s face. He pulled Richie closer, and Richie met his gaze again. In his eyes, he could see Richie’s sorrow. Eddie needed to talk faster. 

“But now… Oh, Richie… now I wanna hold  _ you _ .” Richie kissed Eddie’s palm, asking him to continue. 

“You hold me and… I feel warm inside. The sun burns bright all around me and… I forget that… I forget how bad the winter gets.” Eddie touched their foreheads together. “I don’t wanna let you go. I don’t wanna go back to my lonely life.” He whispered. He held Richie there, and they stayed quiet for a moment. 

And Eddie wanted him to speak. Some dark, twisted part of him wanted Richie to turn him down, to stop this now before they fall in too deep. Before he can get hurt. 

But he knows Richie won’t say that. 

Instead of ‘I want to hold you too’ or ‘I’ll hold you forever’ or even ‘I love you’, Richie’s answer takes him by surprise. 

“Who am I that I should get to hold you?” Richie whispered. And Eddie really wasn’t expecting that. He wasn’t expecting Richie to say anything like that. He felt his face heat up. “When I saw you, walking, I… you… it’s like I’d already known you before… like I knew you before we met… you seemed so-”

“Familiar.” Eddie finished. Richie pulled back to stare at him, surprised. 

“You felt it?” Eddie nodded. 

“Like you’re someone I’ve always known.” He brushed his thumb across Richie’s cheek. He leaned in close, close enough to feel Richie’s breath on his cheek. Close enough to feel Richie’s eyelashes on his face. 

Right now, he thinks, he’s never been happier. He’s never felt so warm, so  _ loved _ , so  _ cherished _ . He kisses Richie’s cheek, then the corner of his mouth, and they’re kissing again. 

It’s softer than before, filled with a different sort of passion. The sort that comes with time, creeps up on you. In Eddie’s opinion, burns you from the inside out and threatens all he’s ever known. 

_ Filled with love _ , he thinks. 

The thought momentarily terrifies him, and for a fraction of a second he thinks he should stop this again, that he should try and save himself _one_ _last_ _time_, but Richie’s lips on his lips and Richie’s hand in his hand and Richie’s body on his body reassures him that this… _this_ is where he’s meant to be. He’s meant to be with Richie. 

He’s meant to stay, no matter which way the wind blows. 

“_Hold_ _me_.” Eddie murmurs helplessly against Richie’s lips. Richie moves his arms to cradle Eddie’s shoulder and waist. “_Don’t_ _let_ _go_.” He almost whimpers, and Richie shakes his head.

“I would  _ never _ . You’re my whole  _ world _ , Eddie.” He says in between kisses and Eddie feels it again, feels the warmth, really burning, blooming everywhere. And when he hooks his leg over Richie’s he feels sparks in his spine, white hot with desire. He pulls Richie’s body closer so he’s resting on him, and Richie sighs into his mouth. That turns into a soft groan when Eddie rolls his hips into Richie’s. 

Richie pulls back to places soft kisses on Eddie’s jaw. He moves down to Eddie’s neck, the kisses becoming wetter, and Eddie tilts his head back. One of his hands moves to grasp Richie’s shoulder, and the other settles in his black curls. Richie’s lips move softly against him. He feels Richie’s tongue grazing his skin and he sighs, scratching Richie’s scalp lightly. His hips move against Richie, slowly. One of Richie’s hands moves to grip his waist, moving against him. Eddie feels Richie’s breathing speed up, feels Richie’s hot breath tickle his neck. 

Eddie takes Richie’s face in his hands and tilts him up to meet his gaze, and Eddie feels lost. Lost in Richie’s eyes, because he’s looking at Eddie like he wants to worship him. Lost for what to do, because no one has ever looked at him like that before. He’s never been worshipped by anyone, but here Richie is, gazing up at him lovingly. It makes Eddie uneasy and comfortable at the same time. 

Richie moves to meet him in a kiss, and Eddie rolls them over until he’s seated firmly on top of Richie. He breaks the kiss to sit back. Richie admires him, still looking at him so adoringly that Eddie’s chest feels impossibly tight, and his hips impossibly warm. 

Eddie slowly unbuttons his shirt, pulling it over his shoulder. He lets it fall, and he feels Richie’s hands clench around his hips for a moment, like he’s itching to move them, to  _ touch _ . But Richie’s hands don’t move an inch. He keeps them at Eddie’s side, respectfully. Eddie thinks he might be afraid. Of what, he’s not sure. That he would hurt Eddie? That he didn’t know what he should do? So Eddie takes Richie’s hands in his, feeling them there before moving them up his sides. He wants to feel those rough hands on him. He wants Richie to  _ feel _ him, to  _ touch _ him, to  _ love _ him. 

Richie’s breathing speeds up, like he’s overwhelmed, but his hands become more confident. His fingertips dragging up and down Eddie’s sides, across his stomach, over his shoulders. He touches Eddie so gently, and it’s different than anything Eddie’s ever felt before. He sighs, letting his head relax. He feels Richie’s fingers press into him more firmly, like he can’t help himself. 

Eddie takes Richie’s hands and laces their fingers together. He rolls his hips, and Richie lets out a sharp gasp without breaking eye contact. Eddie does it again, and again and again, never tearing his eyes away from Richie’s face. 

Richie’s eyes close and his head falls back against the ground, curls starting to stick to his forehead. 

Eddie moves his hands to untuck Richie’s shirt, and he starts undoing the buttons at the bottom. Richie starts with the buttons at the top and they meet halfway. Eddie runs his hands up and down Richie’s chest, pulling the shirt away. He leans down and kisses Richie. Richie holds him and sits up. He removes his own shirt and cradles Eddie’s face in his hands. Eddie’s hands tangle in Richie’s hair again when Richie moves his hips against Eddie’s. Eddie groans softly against Richie’s lips, feeling that intense heat in his gut building. He tugs on Richie’s hair and he feels Richie’s hands grip his waist tighter. 

Before he feels like he might explode, Richie sets him down onto his back. His hands finds the waist of Eddie’s pants, and he breaks the kiss to look into Eddie’s eye, asking. It stops Eddie for a moment, thinking about all the times no one ever asked. 

Eddie nods and lifts his hips, letting Richie remove the last of his clothes. Richie looks at him, all of him, and Eddie feels a flush envelop his chest. He feels it burn again, fizzle out on his neck and shoulders. Everywhere Richie looks at him. 

He feels Richie place wet kisses up his thighs and he holds his breath when Richie kisses the juncture of his hips and thighs. Richie, growing more confident with every passing moment, runs his tongue along Eddie’s hip, and Eddie’s hips cant up into the feeling. 

Eddie thinks he might cry, but Richie takes his cock into his mouth, and now he thinks he’ll definitely cry. He whines, and Richie moves his tongue, and he whines again. Richie pulls up to look at him. 

“Is this ok?” Richie asks and Eddie huffs. 

“ _ Yes _ .” Richie works on him with his tongue again, and Eddie’s thighs clench. It takes everything in him not to move his hips. His brow furrows. He’s starting to feel hot. Not just on the inside, burning from where Richie touches him, but on the outside from the heat of summer. The beginning of a drop of sweat tickles his forehead. 

Eddie hisses when Richie pulls back. He places more wet kisses on Eddie’s thighs, too soft to leave any marks. He makes his way down to Eddie’s knee, and back up again to the top of his thighs. 

Eddie sits and pulls Richie up for a kiss, cupping his jaw. He pulls back to look into Richie’s eyes, and Eddie thinks he looks lost, but determined. Like he doesn’t know where to go from here, but he would do anything that Eddie asked of him. Like he’s never seen the sun, but he would cast it out of the sky if it pleased Eddie. It fills Eddie with a sweltering feeling in his chest because Eddie feels the same about Richie. Like Richie is his son and stars. Like the world revolves around them and  _ only _ them. He would do anything that  _ Richie _ asked  _ him _ . 

Richie removes his own pants and Eddie guides Richie back on top of him. He guides Richie’s hands on his body, his fingers inside him, gracing Richie’s ears with sighs and moans. And now, he guides Richie’s hips against his own, his legs hooked around Richie’s waist.

Eddie’s hands are tangled in Richie’s hair, occasionally pulling Richie down to kiss him. These kisses don’t last more than a few seconds, before one of them breaks off to moan. Their hips move firmly together. Slow, but firm. Eddie thinks Richie is afraid he’s going to break him. He thinks Richie is afraid to let go, so he cants his own hips up, meeting Richie’s hips in a hard thrust. Eddie lets out a soft whine, and Richie lets out a harsh breath against his lips and bites his own. But, he doesn’t take the hint, and continues with the slow grind. 

Eddie cradles Richie’s face, making Richie look at him. He tries to convey that Richie won’t hurt him without speaking, but Richie just gazes down at him lovingly. Like a love struck fool, Eddie thinks. But he knows he’s looking at Richie with the same expression. 

“Richie, you won’t hurt me.” Eddie murmures. Richie’s brow furrows, like he disagrees, like he’s afraid. What Eddie doesn’t understand is that Richie is not only afraid, he’s terrified. Not only of hurting Eddie, but that if he does, Eddie will leave. That Eddie will turn with the wind. 

To  _ some _ degree, Eddie knows this. He knows that Richie might always have that thought in the back of his mind, even at their best. He knows there will always be that voice, the voice of the wind, telling Richie to distrust, to  _ doubt _ . Eddie knows that voice all too well. 

But right now, in this moment, this  _ perfect _ moment, Eddie wants Richie to feel safe with him. No doubts, no fears. Nothing but what they’re sharing in the pink glow of the setting sun. 

Eddie keeps staring into Richie’s shining blue eyes, asking Richie to trust him,  _ pleading _ . Richie seems to understand, because Eddie feels Richie’s hips press faster against his own. Eddie lets out a noise that could have been a sigh or a moan, he’s not sure which. He kisses Richie again, letting his mouth fall open under Richie’s tongue. 

Eddie’s hands move from Richie’s face to his wiry black curls and his shoulder. He moves to whisper in Richie’s ear. He pleads for Richie to go _faster_, _please,_ _Richie_. Richie obeys. Eddie feels Richie’s hot breath on his neck. Eddie hums in his ear, scratching the base of his neck. He twirls one of Richie’s curls on his finger and pulls. Richie groans into his neck, his hands clenching around Eddie’s waist. Richie shifts his hips and Eddie feels it, feels those kindling flames of desire grow inside him, licking up his entire insides. He whines and pants into Richie’s ear. 

“ _ There _ .” He breathes. Richie’s hands clench again and Eddie knows he’s close. 

“ _ Eddie _ .” Richie whines into his neck. Eddie knows he’s  _ definitely _ close. The fire inside him grows and grows, consuming him with every press of Richie’s hips. It builds and builds, until it can’t anymore. He feels like the entire sun is trapped inside his body, heat sweltering and threatening to breach. 

When it finally spills over, Eddie moans into Richie’s ear. Heat explodes inside him, everywhere, his chest, his waist, his gut. He grips Richie’s shoulder, nails biting the skin, and Richie groans. Eddie’s head rolls back and he lets out a few quiet moans while he comes down. He feels Richie slow his pace, almost stop. But Eddie doesn’t want Richie to stop. He keeps moving his own hips against Richie’s, telling him to continue. He wants Richie to come. He wants Richie to feel as good as he does. 

He sees that Richie is painfully close. His brow is furrowed, his palms sweating against his skin. He’s biting his lip so hard, Eddie thinks it might bleed. 

Eddie cups Richie’s face, his thumbs freeing Richie’s lips from his teeth. 

“Richie… my love… my  _ lover _ .” Eddie murmurs against Richie’s lips. Richie gasps at that and his eyes screw shut. Eddie hears Richie groan his name, and then Richie’s hips still. Richie is still panting against Eddie’s lips, and Eddie brings them together. Richie lets out a helpless noise in the back of his throat, but Eddie doesn’t relent. He doesn’t want to let Richie go. He wants to stay like this forever, cradled in Richie’s arms, feeling the warm summer air on his skin. 

“Will you hold me like this? No matter which way the wind blows?” Eddie whispers, brown eyes locked on blue. 

“ _ Forever _ .” 


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Stanley hadn’t always hated the underworld. No, not always. He hadn’t always hated the prospect of leaving the warm world above for six months to live with his husband. He hadn’t always hated that damned train whistle, either.  
He also hadn’t always hated his husband, his Bill.
> 
> Stanley smiled to himself.
> 
> Yes, I used to call him that.
> 
> But that was long ago, when he was a young man, naive

Stanley knew.

Oh, Stanley  _ knew _ that summer would end too early. He knew that it never lasted six months, like it’s supposed to. He knew that fall didn’t play out like it was meant to, either. He knew the seasons changed from one day to the next. That one day it was blazing hot and freezing cold the next. 

He knew that it was because the King of the mine would come to call too soon, because his husband couldn’t wait six whole months anymore, that he came to snatch Stanley from the warm world above, because he was  _ lonely _ . Like Stanley was supposed to feel  _ bad _ for him. 

Like he could ever feel pity for that man. 

Which is why, every time summer ended, he gathered all the pity he could muster, for himself. 

And he got drunk. 

So he could go out with a bang. 

The tavern was packed again today. Dozens of people sitting at the tables looking, not  _ solemn _ per say. On the surface, it seemed like they were feeling more bitter sweet. They were drinking and laughing, but there was no real joy behind it, no real mirth. Stanley could see that, could  _ feel _ it. 

They had all heard the train whistle this morning. They had all heard the train whistle that was coming for him. The train that signified the end of summer, and the start of a cold and bitter winter. The train that would take him away for six months, down to that wretched place. 

_ Come  _ on _ . It hasn’t even been six months, _ he thinks, and takes a drink. He scoffs, remembering how he thinks the same thing every summer.  _ He hasn’t waited a full six months in a long time. _

His husband hadn’t done a lot of things in a long time. 

Stanley hadn’t always hated the underworld. No, not always. He hadn’t always hated the dark sky that loomed above it, or the nice cool breeze that had always seemed to blow. He hadn’t always hated the prospect of leaving the warm world above for six months to live with his husband. He hadn’t always hated that  _ damned _ train whistle, either. He also hadn’t always hated his husband, his Bill. 

Stanley smiled to himself. 

_ Yes, I used to call him that.  _

But that was long ago, when he was a young man, naive

That was when they were in love. 

There was no use in thinking about this now. He needed to live it up while he was still on top, just for one more day. Even though he hated that he had to leave, even though he would be miserable for the next six months. For now, he  _ needed _ to  _ live _ .

Stanley took another drink from his mug. Shit on that, he  _ needed _ another drink. 

He saw Mike walk into the tavern, followed by that gifted boy Richie and his lover, Eddie. The musician seemed slightly anxious, his hand, the one that wasn’t holding Eddie’s, repeatedly clenching and unclenching the thighs of his pants. This didn’t surprise Stanley, considering that today was the start of a trying number of months.

But Eddie. Eddie looked calm, confident, which very much did surprise him, confused him. He held his head high, eyes strong. 

Stanley wondered what could make a person seem so certain with the impending winter, but he never finished the thought. 

The three of them strolled over to where Stanley was. Mike had an apologetic smile on his face. 

“Better get your suitcase packed.” He said. Stanley rolled his eyes. 

“He keeps me late, so maybe I’ll be late to the train.” Stanley says, eyeing his mug. “And I’m not going without a party first.” Stanley’s eyebrows bounce and Mike chuckles, shaking his head. He doesn’t seem surprised. 

He eyes Stanley again, with the same pitiful expression. Stanley  _ hated _ pity. 

“He’ll be angry.” Mike said, like Stanley cared about that fact. Stanley glared up at him, wanting Mike to stop looking at him like  _ that _ . He set his mug carefully on the table, which was much more alarming than if he had thrown it across the room, and stood up, his jaw clenched. But before he could speak, Richie’s lover, Eddie, spoke up. 

“What’s the underworld like?” 

\---

Eddie keeps Stanley’s strict gaze, too scared to break it. Eddie can’t tell if he’s angry or surprised or insulted or all of the above. He didn’t know much about the Underworld. Most things he had heard were neutral, so he didn’t understand why Stanley hated it so much. He was genuinely curious, and who better to ask than the Queen of the Underworld?

It feels like Stanley stares at him for hours, before turning to Mike, raising his brows.  _ Go on _ , his expression says. Mike looks at Eddie with a worried expression. 

“Well,” Mike begins, “you have to get there first. The train comes. You can’t ride the train without a special ticket. And once you ride the train… you don’t come back.” 

“Ever?” Mike shakes his head. 

“You can’t come back from the Underworld, from the other side of the wall.” Mike answers.

Eddie sees Stanley sneer at the world ‘wall’. He drinks more wine from his mug and gives Eddie a crooked smile. 

“Winter’s nigh and summer’s o’er. Didn’t you hear the whistle?” Eddie nodded. “That’s my loving husband, coming for me, to bring me to the Underworld.” From his tone and his face, Eddie could guess that Stanley wasn’t so fond of his husband. Stanley stood up again, slinking towards Eddie with that same crooked smile. “Way down under the  _ ground _ .” Stanley turns toward a group of patrons, throwing his hands in the air in exasperation. 

“It’s so boring down there! Everyone’s a stiff! I’m bored to  _ death _ !” He laughs at his own joke and turns back to Eddie. Eddie sees Mike shaking his head with a small smile. 

“What wall?” Eddie asks. 

“The wall keeps out… poverty.” Mike says, darkly, and does not elaborate. 

_ A wall that keeps out poverty _ , Eddie thought.  _ Like a place of… riches? A place where I wouldn’t starve? _

But he pushes that thought away. He doesn’t know where that came from. He has Richie, of course, and he will stay with Richie, no matter what the wind tells him. 

_ A place that could provide, _ he hears a small voice whisper. He shivers. Winter is definitely coming. The wind has begun to change.

Stanley continues his ravings. 

“Give me wine! Give me  _ morphine _ ! Takes a lot of  _ medicine _ to make it through the winter time!” Stanley exclaims. The group murmurs in agreement. Stanley turns to Mike, less playful now. 

“What else Mike?” Stanley sits and crosses his legs, leaning back against the table. 

“What else about the world down below?” 

Mike looks around at everyone, seemingly working it over in his mind. His eyes land on Eddie, who still doesn’t seem to be getting the picture. What Eddie doesn’t know is that Mike will do anything to explain the true nature of the Underworld to prevent anyone from getting a ticket. 

“Everybody’s hungry and tired. The wage is nothing and the work is hard.” Mike exclaims. He turns to look directly at Stanley, the ghost of a smile on his lips. 

“It’s a graveyard.” 

Stanley smiles again. He jumps up and pulls Mike to stand on one of the benches. Eddie watches as the patrons come to gather around them, wanting to hear about the underworld, wanting to know what it’s like, way down under. 

“What about William?” He hears someone shout from the crowd. 

“The King is a mean old boss.” Mike says, a smile in his eyes. He seems to be enjoying himself, now. “He’s got a golden scale where he ways the price of your soul!” The crowd murmurs in surprise. 

“A  _ mighty _ king on a chromium  _ throne _ !” Stanley sneers. Some of them laugh. Eddie is not one of them. A chromium throne?

_ Not just rich place that could provide _ , that voice whispers again.  _ An extravagant one _ . 

He grips Richie’s arm, and Richie gives him a funny look. Eddie smiles uneasily, and Richie smiles back. 

The loud train whistle makes them all jump in their skin. It pierces the air, and everyone freezes in fright. They all stare at the door, expecting it to open, but it does not. The only one who doesn’t seem worried is Stanley, and Eddie guessed it was because he knew his husband wouldn’t come here. Eddie hears Mike sigh and pat Stanley’s back. 

“Time to go.” Mike says. The playful nature that was in the air a mere moment ago is gone. It’s been replaced with a cold and bitter atmosphere. Eddie looks at everyone’s dismal expressions, including Richie’s. He places his hand on Richie’s forearm, smiling at him, trying to comfort him. Richie leans into the touch and kisses the top of Eddie’s head. 

Stanley stands and opens his arms. 

“Well, see me off with a few more drinks!” He exclaims, and he holds out his mug. The other patrons slowly raise their own. “Let’s go.” Stanley beckons everyone to follow. He picks up a suitcase from under the table. He leads everyone out the door. 

“Might as well.” Richie says. 

The train station is close, only half a mile or so from the tavern. Eddie expected it to just  _ appear _ , or come out of the ground wherever Stanley wanted it to. He didn’t have much experience with gods. He’d thought that they were all powerful, all encompassing. He thought they were able to change the seasons, create storms, kill other gods and Titans, from the stories he had heard before. 

But, after walking for a while, they reached the station. 

_ It’s old _ , Eddie thinks. That would make sense, considering the gods have been around for a long time. The station was made entirely of wood. A station isn’t what Eddie would call it, though. It was six pillars with a wooden roof next to a railroad line. The burgundy wood was most definitely rotting. The station looked as if it would collapse with the smallest amount of wind. 

The train isn’t what he was expecting, either. He figured it would be large and dangerous looking, foreboding. Maybe decorated with skulls all along the sides, with huge spikes that could tear a person apart. But it wasn’t anything like that. It was just… a normal train. A black locomotive with an infinite amount of railroad cars attached. 

Stanley seemed to have sobered up as soon as the train was in sight. His eyes weren’t carrying the same drunken essence they were a few moments before. The way he walked had changed, his back straightening. He seemed more stoic, serious,  _ solemn _ . 

The whistle sounded again, and everyone took an automatic step back, frightened. Stanley stepped up onto the platform, and Eddie could hear the rotted wood creak from a few feet away. When Stanley didn’t step any closer, Eddie thought that he was refusing to get on. But, the door of the car he stood in front of slid open on squeaking wheels. 

The man that stepped out was tall and thin with fiery red hair. He wore a black suit, the golden chain of a pocket watch glistening, falling out of his left pants pocket. 

From looking at him, he didn’t seem as physically intimidating as Eddie expected. He thought the King would be tall, yes. But, he also thought he would look more… threatening. He thought he would look more like the men that Eddie had run from before, large and dangerous with faces meaner than any dog in the street. 

But that was before he looked at the King’s eyes. 

Even from this far away, Eddie could see that his eyes were an icy blue. He wasn’t even sure he could see pupils in the sea of cerulean. They were the eyes that could command, that could charm, that could  _ kill _ . And Eddie understood that was plenty threatening in itself. 

And for just a mere moment, just before the man stepped out of the car, Eddie thought he saw those eyes glowing in the dark of the train car. 

The longer he stared, the more Eddie realized that they were also entrancing. He got caught in the azure storm, and his grip on Richie’s arm faltered. For a moment, Eddie thought he wouldn’t be able to tear his gaze away. 

“You’re early.” Stanley said, breaking Eddie out of his trance. Everyone held their breath, terrified of what the King of the Underworld might do. Stanley crossed his arms, tapping his foot impatiently. The corner of the King’s lips turned up.

“I missed you.” He said. He moved to grab Stanley’s hand, but Stanley took a small step back. They stared at each other for a long moment. Eddie instinctively tightened his grip on Richie’s arm. Stanley unfolded his arms and let his husband take his hand. He led Stanley into the car. The door closed and the whistle sounded, and the train started off. 

Eddie released the breath he was holding in. 

“Seems like he owns everything.” he heard someone murmur.

_ Makes you wonder how it feels, doesn’t it, Eddie? _

Eddie felt a breeze ghost the back of his neck and he shivered. Richie pulled him close, and Eddie knew that he would be alright these next few months. He wasn’t so sure about everyone else. 

He looked around at the others. He saw the same thing in all their eyes, the same chilling feeling. 

_ The death of hope. _

\--- 

Richie knew that Eddie was speaking to him. He was hearing, but he wasn’t listening. They were outside the tavern, walking around the town while it was still safe. Stanley had only left two days ago, but the weather was changing fast. All around them, plants began to wither and crops began to die. The temperature dropped to icy levels at night, and soon it would be just as cold during the day. Soon, the food would become starce. Warmth would be hard to come by, and people will do anything to survive. 

The weather wasn’t supposed to be this drastic. The seasons were a graceful tune, a beautiful melody that flows from one note to another. The wind wasn’t supposed to be so foreboding. 

_ It’s not supposed to be like this. _

“He came too soon.” Richie murmured. Eddie gave Richie a pitiful look, but Richie didn’t see it. He was too busy being inside his own head. 

_ I have to finish the song. I have to fix this.  _

“Richie...?” Eddie said softly. Richie looked up at him. Eddie had said something, but he hadn’t heard it. Eddie was looking up at him, brown eyes shining. 

“What?” 

“I said, this is how it is. Until someone brings the world back into tune.” Eddie brushed Richie’s face with his hand. Richie nodded and relaxed into the touch for a moment. But, his thoughts overcame him again. 

Richie had a gift, and he was touched by the gods. He had an amazing talent, and he needed to give it back. He was given the tune, in order to set the world right again. He needed to finish it. He needed to restore the seasons. 

Richie took Eddie’s hand and kissed it. He pulled away and began to walk back to his shelter. 

“Where are you going?” Eddie caught him by the shoulder. Richie turned back to him with a smile that didn’t quite reach his eyes. 

“I have to finish the song.” Eddie gave him a troubled look. 

“I know, Richie. But, finish it quick. The wind is changing. There’s a storm coming.” Richie nodded with a blank look in his eyes. They both started back to his shelter. He was aware Eddie was talking again, but he couldn’t really hear him. 

“We need food and firewood.” When Richie didn’t give any sign that he heard Eddie, Eddie tugged his sleeve. “Do you hear me?” Richie’s face was scrunched in thought. His mind was swirling with that melody, with the story of the gods. He needed to finish it. He  _ needed- _

“Ok, finish it.” Richie looked up at that. Eddie gave him a worried smile. Richie sighed and kissed his forehead. 

“Just give me a little time, lover.” He mumbled into Eddie’s forehead. “ _ I’m going to set things right _ .” 

And he pulled Eddie close when the wind whipped again. 


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> But, he’s so close. He just needs Eddie to patient.
> 
> He just needs Eddie to hold on, hold on for a little longer, my love…

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This one is short sorry :/

_ King of silver _

_ King of gold _

_ And everything glittering _

_ Under the ground _

As winter descended upon them, Richie works relentlessly on the song. He works everyday, for hours on end while the wind blows outside. He works until his fingers turn purple from the cold, until he can’t feel them, or he works they’re sore, until he just  _ can’t _ play anymore. He works until the words and the melody won’t flow anymore and he needs to break in order to clear the path in his head. 

He rarely sleeps. He rarely speaks to Eddie, but his voice becomes raw from singing. Some days, he doesn’t even acknowledge Eddie. But, he’s so close. He just needs Eddie to patient. 

He just needs Eddie to hold on,  _ hold on for a little longer, my love…  _

_ William is king _

_ Of oil and coal _

_ And the riches that flow _

_ Where those rivers are found _

_ But for half of the year with Stanley gone _

_ His loneliness moves in him, crude and black _

Eddie gets more worried with each passing day, and not just about the state that Richie is in. The winter is hovering over them, the weather and wind unrelenting. They need food and fire. They need the means to stay alive. 

But, Richie is determined to finish the song. He wholeheartedly believes that finishing it will mend everything.

That it will pave a new road for the world to live on. 

And Eddie hopes, Eddie  _ prays _ . He searches high and low for the food and firewood that they need. He searches and  _ searches _ for  _ anything _ . He tries to gather food for hours on end, wandering through the forest, to other towns nearby. 

The winter winds creep up on him. It whips his face, so cold that it threatens to freeze off his nose. He keeps an eye on the sky. He keeps careful watch for a storm. He tries to trust that the song Richie is working on will shelter them from the wind. He tries to hold on for just a _little_ _longer_. 

_ He thinks of his queen in the arms of the sun _

_ And jealousy fuels him and feeds him and fills him  _

_ With doubt that he’ll never come _

_ Dread that he'll never come _

_ Doubt that his lover _

_ Will ever come back _

Richie can’t see it, can’t look up from his work because it’s too important, but a storm is brewing around them. It curls and spirals in the sky. It collects the four winds, gathering and building. It looms over the earth, bringing high winds and Arctic temperatures. It brings famine. It brings violence and creates desperation. It brings doubt . It reveals the true nature of men. 

And most of all, it brings  _ death _ . 

_ King of mortar _

_ King of bricks _

_ The River Styx is a river of stones _

_ And Hades lays them high and thick _

_ With a million hands that are not his own _

Eddie trudges on, looking low and high, for  _ anything _ that will aid their survival. He still searches and searches, the desperation crawling inside him. A dangerous voice whispers in his ear, a voice made of many other voices, a voice made to bring doubt and misery, a voice that he knows all too well. 

The voice of the wind. 

_ There is no food left to find _

Eddie ignores it. He can’t believe that. He has to try. He can’t give up on Richie. He  _ can’t- _

_ It’s hard enough to feed yourself, let alone somebody else _

Eddie feels a sob build in his throat. He feels doubt creep in his mind. It takes every ounce of strength he has to push it down. He tries to focus on his faith in his lover. He knows what that melody can do, he knows it’s power. But, he can’t stop the fear from building. He can’t stop the thoughts of rationality that he used to rely on when he was alone. 

A song isn’t going to shelter them. A song isn’t going to feed them. The winter will last much longer. It  _ will _ get colder. It  _ will _ be relentless. 

Eddie feels the painful bite of the wind on his face again. But, his resolve does not crumble. 

They  _ will _ survive. Eddie firmly believes that. He loves Richie. He loves him, and nothing will ever change that. 

But the wind howls, and the storm closes in on him. 

_ With a million hands, he builds a wall _

_ Around all the riches he digs from the Earth _

_ The pickaxe flashes _

_ The hammer falls _

_ And crashing and pounding _

_ As rivers surround him _

_ And drown out the sound of the song he once heard: _

The storm surrounds Eddie. The wind whips him around, cold and unrelenting. Clouds swirl overhead, dark and thunderous. He staggers, holding onto the small amount of food he was able to find. He finally finds a tree. He clutches it, hoping that the storm will pass. But, it’s bigger than any other storm he’s ever seen. 

The wind grows. With a biting roar, it pulls one of his arms free from the tree. The food he was holding is swept away into the storm, carried for hundreds of miles, into the unknown. 

_ That’s all we had! _

The wind rears its head for Eddie again. It hits him, and this time, it gets both of his arms free. He feels his feet leave the ground for a mere moment, and fear boils inside him. But, the wind takes his coat, pulling it from his body, and he touches ground again. He turns to see it being whipped away, thrashing through the sky. 

_ Give that back! _

The wind pulls all around him. Eddie thinks he’s going to freeze.

_ Richie, you said you would shelter us. _

Eddie shivers and his teeth chatter violently. He wraps his arms around himself as tight as he can. He can’t feel his nose or his cheeks. His fingers feel numb, as well. He thinks they’re probably purple, but he can’t open his eyes. 

_ Harbor me. _

_ La la la la la la la... _

_ La la la la la la la... _

_ La la la la la la la... _

_ La la la la la la… _

Richie keeps working tirelessly. He keeps trying. 

But, he doesn’t understand. He doesn’t understand why they are on this road. He had tried to work it out in his mind, piece by piece. He knows it’s the key to this melody, but he hasn’t quite found the answer yet. He starts again. 

_ King William is blinded by a river of stone. _

This he knows. The king’s doubt in his lover grew and grew with each passing year. Doubt that he will ever come back. He turns to machinery. He turns to building the wall. 

_ And Stanley is blinded by a river of wine, livin’ in an oblivion.  _

With all the machinery, with the fact that William took him early and brought him back late, Stanley began to hate his husband, began to hate the underworld. Stanley began to live it up on top as much as he could, even if that meant that he was drunk for every day of the short summers. 

_ His black gold flows _

_ In the world down below _

The working never stops. 

_ And his dark clouds roll _

_ In the one up above _

The winter is ruthless. 

_ They can’t find the tune.  _

_ They can’t find the rhythm. _

Richie freezes. The tune… the rhythm… the  _ melody _ . 

_ And that is the reason we’re on this road _

They can’t hear their melody. 

_ And the seasons are wrong _

They have lost faith in their love. 

_ And the wind is so strong _

_ That’s why times are so hard. _

_ It’s because of the gods…  _

Richie whispers into the dark,

“The gods have forgotten the song of their love.” 


	8. Chapter 8

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Stanley knows, inside every one of those factories are rows and rows of people, working on the assembly line. Some even stand in circles outside, chained to each other. He sees their pickaxes swing, glinting in the light. He hears them hit the ground in a steady beat. If he listens, he can hear their song, the song of thousands of miserable souls. The drone of hundreds of miserable voices in unison, echoing throughout the land.

The train ride is, unsurprisingly, unpleasant, as it always is. It’s silent inside the car as the locomotive rattles on the tracks. Stanley keeps his eyes out the window. He feels Bill’s, he feels William’s eyes on him. He feels William’s constant glances. And, everytime, Stanley feels goosebumps prickle in the back of his neck. But, neither of them speak. There’s nothing Stanley wants to say, and William knows that Stanley won’t listen anyway. He never does.

The ride isn’t long, however. Stanley had ridden this coal powered hearse enough times to know that, since it’s not a normal train, it is not forced to abide by the laws of time and space that humans are. It only takes a few minutes to arrive to the Underworld. Even though it’s short, Stanley still loathes the trip, and loathes the destination. And he, most of all, loathes the company. 

They pull into the station and the train shudders to a stop. The whistle sounds. Stanley feels like poking his eardrums with a hot rod of iron every time he hears it. 

The King stands and offers his hand to Stanley, sapphire eyes shining in the dim light of the rail car, as he always does. And Stanley always begrudgingly takes it, always places his delicate hand in the larger one of the King, suitcase in his other hand. 

They step off the train. The station on this end of the railroad line is much nicer. The other was made of rotting wood that creaked, that looked like it was going to fall apart every time he stepped upon it, but this one was made of black marble, with decorated columns and a sturdy roof. Sometimes Stanley wonders why his husband doesn’t just replace it all with gold. He’s got  _ plenty _ of it and nowhere else to put it. He rolls his eyes at the thought. 

Stanley lets William lead him down the steps of the station. Once they reach the bottom, he snatches his hand back without a word. He feels the same disappointment roll off of his husband in waves, as it always does. But, Stanley will not humor him. Not after he came so early.  _ Again _ . 

They walk side by side to the King’s palace, and Stanley is filled with the same rage he always is when he sees the state of things down here. 

A large marble and stone wall surrounds the Underworld. It climbs into the dark sky, which, Stanley supposes, isn’t actually the sky. Just an inky blackness that looms over the land of the Underworld. Just a reminder that he’s way down under the ground, without sun, without green, without  _ life _ . 

It’s bleak, brown and flat, underneath everything. Nothing grows in the Underworld, no harvest, no flowers, except Stanley’s distaste for his husband’s choices. If anything had ever grown here, it would have been long ago. And it would have been removed to make room for ‘ _ progress’ _ , as his  _ ever-so-loving _ husband would put it. 

The Underworld itself is so vast that, from the station, Stanley can barely see the other end. He can barely see the other side of the wall. It barely escapes his sight, blurry. 

The inability to see across, he thinks, could also be due to all the smoke. The factory smog.

Large black buildings are scattered throughout the barren land, and large fumes climb from their chimneys. They swirl and join the empty black roof. 

Stanley knows, inside every one of those factories are rows and rows of people, working on the assembly line. Some even stand in circles outside, chained to each other. He sees their pickaxes swing, glinting in the light. He hears them hit the ground in a steady beat. If he listens, he can hear their song, the song of thousands of miserable souls. The drone of hundreds of miserable voices in unison, echoing throughout the land.

_ Low, keep your head, keep your head low _

_ Oh, you gotta keep your head low _

_ If you wanna keep your head _

_ Oh, you gotta keep your head low _

If he hadn’t been here so many times before, if he wasn’t used to seeing them all, if he was hearing that tune for the first time, sorrow would’ve enveloped him. Stanley’s heart would sink at all of their fates. He would pity all of those poor souls, working, without rest, for eternity. Instead, Stanley feels his contempt for his husband grow, threatening to boil over. He feels his anger and disgust swirl in his gut, building. 

As they walk, Stanley notices that he’s beginning to sweat. He feels a bead travel down the side of his forehead, leaving a cool, wet trail. He wipes it, and feels another drop fall on the other side of his face. 

His brow furrows. 

_ People don’t sweat in the winter _ . 

He thinks it could be due to his emotions, that it could be that he was dreading them reaching the palace. But, that wasn’t it. He takes a deep breath and almost faints, his head swarming. 

It was the air. The hot,  _ dry _ air. 

_ This whole time we’ve been walking down here _ , he thinks,  _ and I hadn’t noticed how hot it was. _

Stanley pulls a paper fan from the pocket of his pants and fans himself. It’s not that he’s not used to heat. He spends every summer day up above outside. He spends every summer day dancing and drinking in the sun. He knows about heat. He’s used to  _ heat _ , but… 

But, it’s winter time. The sun does not radiate heat to the earth. It’s  _ supposed _ to be  _ cold _ . 

“In the coldest time of year.” Stanley mumbles to himself. He feels William look at him, like he heard him. Stanley does not look at him. He keeps fanning himself. 

“Why is it so  _ hot _ down here?” Stanley mutters, his voice low. 

Hotter than a  _ crucible _ , he thinks as he feels another bead of sweat fall. 

“It ain’t right, it ain’t  _ natural _ .” Stanley keeps his gaze on the factories around him, refusing to look at his husband. He feels William try to grab his hand again, but he slips his fingers free. His husband hesitates, waiting for Stanley to continue. When he does not, he answers. 

“Lover,” William’s hand brushes Stanley’s shoulder. He does not recoil. He allows it, for now. “You were gone so long, I was lonesome. I wanted to make this place warmer, like summer, so you would like it down here. So, I built a foundry in the ground. I used it to fashion things of steel, oil drums and automobiles. Then, I kept the furnace fed with the fossils of the dead. When you feel that fire, the heat from the furnace… it is my desire,  _ burning _ , for you.” William’s hand brushes the side of his face this time. Stanley’s face hardens, his jaw clenching. His husband drops his hand, not wanting to upset him. Stanley does not respond. 

They continue walking in silence for awhile. Stanley keeps fanning, avoiding looking at his husband. He keeps his eyes on the palace, which grows closer with every passing second. The drone of the workers becomes softer and softer, fading away. 

_ Oh, you gotta keep your head low _

_ If you wanna keep your head _

The palace looms over them now, tall and black. Sharp spires climb high into the air. Stanley looks up at them. They glitter like onyx, smooth and unnaturally bright. He briefly wonders where such a reflection could come from in the Underworld. He looks over his shoulder, finding that he has to squint to see. 

“In the darkest time of year.” Stanley wonders aloud, ”Why is it so  _ bright _ down here?”

_ Brighter than a  _ carnival, he thinks. 

“It ain’t right,” he mutters, “it ain’t natural.” 

They stop walking in front of the main palace door. It, too, is black marble, with circular handles hanging. 

William turns towards him, but Stanley does not reciprocate. This time, he lets William take his hand. He supposed that they look odd, his husband holding his hand, while Stanley refuses to look at him. He looks at their hands for a brief moment before looking back at the door. 

“Lover, you were gone and I was lonesome. I wanted to make it brighter, like the sun was shining. So, I laid a power grid in the ground. It was electrifying when I made the neon shine. A silver screen, a cathode ray. It was  _ brighter _ than the light of day. When you see that glare, the light… it is my despair.” William reaches for his face again, wanting Stanley to look at him. Stanley turns away. He snatches his hand back, his fingers clenched. He has his back towards William. 

“Every year,” Stanley shakes his head. “Every year it’s getting worse. This- this,” Stanley gestures towards the factories. “This hell on earth!” He turns toward William, glaring.

“Did you think I’d be impressed with this… neon  _ necropolis _ ?” Stanley laughs bitterly without humor. He turns away again, his expression softening. 

“Lover, what have you become?” He murmurs. “Coal cars, oil drums. Warehouse walls, factory floors…” Stanley swallows thickly.

“I don’t know you anymore.” 

He sees William opens his mouth, ready to speak, but Stanley cuts him off. 

“In the meantime, up above, the harvest  _ dies _ . People  _ starve _ . Oceans rise and overflow.” He feels his jaw clench. He feels his anger moving again. He feels another drop of sweat roll down his face. He turns towards William, eyes burning. He shoves his finger into William’s chest. 

“It ain’t right. It ain’t  _ natural! _ ” He bites. His hazel eyes bore into William’s icy blue ones. William keeps his stoic expression. 

“Lover, everything I do-” He grabs Stanley’s hand, and Stanley whips it back. “I do it for the  _ love _ of you.” He reaches for Stanley again, and Stanley steps back, eyeing him up and down. His husband’s expression hardens.

“If you don’t even want my love-” 

“ _ Ha _ !” Stanley exclaims, a humorless smile plastered on his face. 

“I’ll give it to someone who does!” William’s eyes flash dangerously. Stanley’s smile turns into a sneer.

“Someone grateful. Someone who appreciates the comfort of a gilded cage and doesn’t try to fly away. Who doesn’t try to leave the moment Mother Nature calls. Someone who could love these walls to keep them  _ safe _ !” 

Stanley stares at his husband long and hard, William’s icy eyes locked on his. He keeps his expression relatively bitter. But, on the inside… On the inside he feels like a piece of him might die. Might, not wither, but rip from life suddenly, painfully. 

He shows none of this. He doesn’t want to give his husband that satisfaction. 

“Well, go  _ find _ them.” Stanley spits bitterly. He turns and walks into the palace, not looking back. 

\---

The King of the Underworld sat on his throne, a frown resting on his face. His elbows were resting on his knees, and he was holding his chin in his hands. 

The throne room was empty and dark. More black marble decorated the inside walls. Pillars were scattered down the chamber, the tops and bases decorated with ornate carvings. Two rows of these pillars lined a path to the two thrones seated in the center. 

The slightly larger throne was his own. It, too, was made of black marble, with golden trimmings along its square edges. 

The queen’s throne was softer, with curved edges. Patterns of flowers decorated its edges, but not in gold. Stanley had requested silver embellishments.

_ I just don’t like gold, Bill.  _

The King laughs at the memory. 

_ Bill _ . When was the last time Stanley had called him  _ that? _

He ignored the thought, knowing the answer would hurt too much. 

He sat alone in the throne room. He wanted no distractions. He needed to focus on the task at hand, even though he had been bluffing. 

No, he hadn’t really meant what he said to Stanley. He didn’t want anyone else. 

But he was so angry, so  _ furious _ at his queen’s words, at Stanley’s  _ ungratefulness _ . Stanley had always been a little hot headed, but Bill hadn’t expected him to retaliate like that. He hadn’t expected Stanley to bark at him to do it, almost daring. Then Bill had watched his Queen march into the palace, and he didn’t dare try to stop him. 

He had stood, staring at the palace door, before his anger finally boiled over. He stormed into his throne room and began to listen. 

He listened to the people up above, trying to pick out a single voice he could offer everything to. But, there were so many. So many souls in need of a warm place to rest. 

Bill tried to focus, but his thoughts began to drift. 

He began to argue with his queen in his head. 

How could Stanley not see? How could Stanley not understand? Everything Bill built, everything Bill worked for, was for him? 

_ Lover, everything I do is for  _ you

Every factory he built, every grid he laid, every damned light bulb.

He built it all for Stanley, to keep him safe, to surround him,  _ embrace _ him. 

_ Think of it as my embrace _

_ Of you _

Oh, but he knows what Stanley would say. He knows that a sneer would crawl across his queen’s face. 

_ I never wanted  _ this _ ! _

Eyes closed, he could feel a headache coming from all the noise, all the voices from up above, combined with his thoughts. He rubbed his temples. 

He’s about to leave, to go to Stanley. But suddenly, the voices die out. All of them. Like they were swept away. 

He listens closely. 

Then, he hears a distant thundering sound. It starts out as a whisper, but grows, and grows. It’s joined by the whine of the wind, pulling. 

A storm. 

Underneath the storm, he hears a voice, desperately crying into the wind. 

_ Give that back! _

And again, the same voice, softer. He almost can’t pick it up. 

_ …you said you would shelter us…harbor me…  _

It whispers, and fades, overpowered by the wind. 

Bill sits up in his throne. 

This one, he decides. 


	9. Chapter 9

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Eddie decides that it probably is, and he feels all hope leave him. He’s ready to sit in the snow, and drift off, let go. Then, he hears a murmur.
> 
> “Hey, little songbird…”
> 
> It’s a warm whisper. It’s inviting, and Eddie is drawn to it.
> 
> “Give me a song.”

The storm blows past Eddie, the wind slowing. Eddie feels it die out completely, just moments after his coat was blown away, but he doesn’t move. He thinks he might not even be able to, if he tried. But he doesn’t want to anyway. He keeps his head low and his knees bent. He wants to sit, not moving. He wants to cry, let out loud screams until his throat is hoarse. He wants Richie, wants Richie to hold him,  _ harbor _ him. He wants Richie to be there with him.

But, none of these things are possible right now. If he sits, he’ll freeze and die. If he cries, his tears might freeze on his face, or worse, in his eyes. And Richie… Richie isn’t here. Richie wasn’t here. They’re food is gone, his coat is gone, and Richie wasn’t here. The storm wouldn’t have been so bad if his lover had been there, he thinks. They would have held on to each other, letting the wind surround them. They would have been strong,  _ safe _ . 

Eddie lets out a dry sob. He keeps his eyes shut tight. He can’t cry, he can’t let his eyes water. It’s too cold. They would freeze on his face. He holds his face in his hands, cupping them over his eyes, so that when he opens them, the chilly air won’t shock him too bad. 

He sniffs, which is a mistake, because the inside of his nose burns at the burst of cold, and he feels his eyes water again. He presses his palms to his eyes and wipes his face, looking up. 

He squints, because of the cold, but also because of how bright it is. There’s a light dusting of snow on the ground, which radiates a blinding light in the small pathway. He blinks several times, finally adjusting to its intensity. 

Eddie shivers and tries to stand. It’s difficult. His legs feel so weak and his feet are numb. He tries to move his toes inside his shoes, but he can’t feel the tell tale sign of the wool against his skin. He falters, his legs wobbling and he thinks they might just melt underneath him. He falls back into the snow on his hands and knees, twice. 

He sits on his knees and closes his eyes again, trying to muster as much strength as possible. He takes a deep breath, letting the icy air fill his lungs, and it burns.  _ It’s better than no air _ , he thinks. 

Before he tries a third time, he opens his eyes again. He blinks, and notices that everything is somehow darker. The snow seemed dimmer, not quite at blinding as before, and seems to be getting darker still, shadows traveling and changing. He looks around. The trees seem darker, too. He finds he can’t see past the first few, because the rest fade into inky blackness along the pathway. 

The sun seems to dim, too, but it doesn’t move in the sky, doesn’t set. 

Eddie’s breathing picks up, and little visible puffs of air surround his face. 

He looks around and around again. Darkness is surrounding him. He thinks he might be fainting. Or dying. Is this what if feels like to die, he asks himself, but he doesn’t really want to know the answer. 

Eddie decides that it probably is, and he feels all hope leave him. He’s ready to sit in the snow, and drift off, let go. Then, he hears a murmur.

“ _ Hey, little songbird… _ ”

It’s a warm whisper. It’s inviting, and Eddie is drawn to it. 

“ _ Give me a song. _ ”

He whips his head around, looking for the source, wanting to be  _ closer _ . He finds that he can feel his feet again, and he tries to stand once more. He stumbles at first, but makes it to his feet, his legs more stable than before. 

“ _ I’m a busy man, and I can’t stay long. _ ”

He sees some of that darkness flow from the forest like ink, swirling on the ground. It builds and swirls and forms the shape of a tall man, right in front of him. 

“ _ I’ve got clients, orders to fill, walls to build, riots to quell. _ ”

The man becomes a more solidified outline. He doesn’t quite have any distinguishable features, but the first thing that Eddie notices are his eyes. Bright, all consuming, and  _ blue _ . 

Eddie knows those eyes. 

“ _ I’ve got hell to deal with. _ ” 

Eddie can clearly see the rest of his face now. His red hair, his black suit. He recognizes the king of the underworld, standing, as a shadow, right before him. His blood turns to ice, a chill creeping up his back, not from the cold. Fear and unease build inside him. 

Why would the king of the underworld visit  _ him _ ? 

Eddie swallows thickly. He keeps his eyes locked on those blue ones. He’s drawn to them, but he still feels uneasy. There’s a small voice in the back of his head, a voice that sounds a little like Richie’s, telling him to run. It’s desperate and sure of itself, like it knows that something is about to happen. He almost listens to it, but then, it’s covered by louder ones, familiar ones, that tell him to stay and  _ listen _ . The wind coos and enticingly tells him to stay where he is. 

Eddie can’t move, indecisively frozen. Maybe it’s the voices, maybe it’s the king’s eyes, he’s not sure. But he’s  _ certain _ that he won’t be going anywhere.

He sees the king smile, and he feels the tension in his shoulders lessen. 

“Little songbird…” He takes a step closer to Eddie, and Eddie does not move, paralyzed. “Always a pity,” the king brings the back of his hand to caress Eddie’s face, “for one so pretty and young.” 

Eddie lets out breath he didn’t know he was holding, and something doesn’t seem right. It takes him a moment to realize that he can’t see his breath anymore. He could feel his nose again. In fact, he was quite warm all over. He keeps staring into those sapphires. 

“Poverty came to clip your wings. Took your air, took your food.” His hand travels down Eddie’s face, down his shoulder. Eddie feels goosebumps rise down his arm, but he feels relaxed,  _ safe _ . He settles his hand on Eddie’s, almost holding it. 

“If you came with me, you’d never be cold, you’d never be  _ hungry _ .” The king’s eyes flash dangerously and Eddie takes a step back. He hears that voice again, the one that sounds like Richie, telling him to back away, to walk home. It fills Eddie with unease. Just an inkling in the back of his mind. 

_ Strange. Strange and untrustworthy.  _

_ But I’m hungry. I want… I want a soft place to land… to lie down, to  _ rest. 

As if on cue, Eddie’s stomach rumbles quietly. 

Eddie thinks the king can see his resolve crumbling because he smiles and steps closer again. 

“You’d shine like a diamond, down in the mine.” The king leans in close to his face. Eddie relaxes into his touch again. He can feel the king’s breath on his lips, and then the king pulls back, smirking when Eddie chases him for a moment. He feels like a moth drawn to a flame.

“But the choice is yours.” 

Eddie blinks, remembering himself. His mind is reeling. He wants to go, to run to Richie. He wants that more than anything. 

Eddie turns his back to the king.

_ Where are you? Weren’t we birds of a feather? _

“ _ Richie… _ ” Eddie murmurs. He hears the king chuckle darkly behind him. 

“Let me guess, he’s some sort of penniless poet? He write you a  _ poem _ when the power is out? If you stay with him, you’ll barely survive,  _ if _ you survive at all.” 

Eddie holds back his tears, feeling that the king’s words are true. If he stays here, in this unyielding winter, he’ll probably die, whether or not Richie finishes his song. 

Eddie shakes his head at the thought, and he feels the king step behind him, up against his back. He leans in and Eddie can feel his breath on his ear. 

“Why not fly south for the winter?” He murmurs. Eddie feels a shiver trickle up his spine. 

The king’s hands graze his shoulders, and Eddie relaxes into the touch. His hands drift down Eddie’s arms gently, trailing goosebumps. 

“Look all around. Vipers and vultures surround you. They’ll take you down, pick you clean.”

Eddie feels his hands caress the back of his neck. He gasps softly. 

“People get mean when the chips are down. Men get  _ cruel _ . You know that better than anyone,  _ Eddie _ .”

Eddie whips around to face the king, but he’s met with the remnants of that black shadow, drifting into the air. 

He looks around, squinting. The sun is becoming bright again, the shadows over it falling. The blackness behind the trees is disappearing. He can see much farther down the road. 

He looks down at the once again blinding snow. Sticking out of the ground, is what looks like a black piece of paper. He notices that it isn’t blowing in the wind. It casts a dark shadow, darker than himself. 

Eddie falls to his knees to pick it up. It  _ is _ black, with silver script that reads ‘admit one’. 

_ What’s this? _

He hears a deep voice murmur.  _ Your ticket… _

Eddie swallows thickly. A ticket… a ticket to Hadestown. His eyes widen and he feels his breathing speed up. He shakes his head at the notion. 

_ No, no I won’t go that's- _

He feels the wind suddenly pull around him. He fears another storm is coming. It groans, and he hears it’s familiar voice in his head. 

_ What you gonna do, Eddie? When the chips are down? _

It whispers, it murmurs in his ears like a sinful melody. He shivers and holds himself tight. 

_ Help yourself, to hell with the rest. _

That’s insane, Eddie thinks, I can’t leave-

_ Even the one who loves you best.  _

Eddie knows. He knows that he won’t be able to find anymore food. And if he did, who’s to say there would be enough for them both? Or that the wind wouldn’t just take it again?

Eddie feels tears threaten again, and he lets them fall, his heart aching.  _ Richie _ .

_ Shoot to kill, if you don’t, someone else will.  _

To some degree, Eddie believes it’s kill or be killed. But he tries to remember how the world  _ could _ be, how Richie  _ showed _ him it was. Eddie covers his ears, but it does nothing to quiet the voices in his head. This winter was supposed to be different than the others. It was supposed to be better. 

_ Cast your eyes to heaven, you get a knife in the back.  _

He fists his hands in his hair. He tries to forget the king’s words, to block out the wind. 

But, the king had been right about one thing. 

_ Nobody’s innocent. Especially when the chips are down…  _

Eddie lets out a sob, wrapping himself tight. He doesn’t want to leave. He doesn’t want to abandon Richie. It’s wrong, it’s  _ wrong _ . 

_ No one can blame you. _

_ Others would do the same. _

Eddie’s tears fall. He feels lost, confused,  _ hungry _ . Most of all, he’s hungry. 

“Richie, my heart is yours.” He murmurs, smiling bitterly. “Always was, and will be.” He sobs again. 

“But, I can’t ignore… Richie, I’m  _ hungry _ . I want to stay, I want to believe…” Eddie buries his face in his hands. He wipes his tears. He stands, holding the ticket. The silver writing glistens in the sun. 

“I’m gone.”

**Author's Note:**

> I have about half of this fic done I’m just editing  
Tumblr is lavenderaesthetic13


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